Speaking In Tongues
by SourXMash
Summary: Crossover With House. Rogue comes down with an illness that baffles even Dr. McCoy. After failing to isolate the cause of her sickness, Hank calls an old friend from med school. There will be ROMY definitely. Please Review.
1. Chapter 1

1

Rogue let her emerald eyes roam from left to right across the darkened street and clenched her hands into tight fists. She and the rest of her team had been in the area for close to an hour and still no sign of their target. The steam generated by New York's subway system rose from the street grating to cover the ground with a thin layer, highlighted by the occasional working streetlight. Combined with the hallowed-out husks of cars that had fallen prey to nimble car-parts thieves, there was a certain noir aesthetic that permeated the air, one that Rogue certainly would have stopped to admire if not for the pressing concern of Sabertooth, who had holed up somewhere in the area with several other mutants on the lam a month ago, terrorizing everyone and anyone in sight ever since. At first, it had been small-time vandalism, barely worth a mention in any newspaper, but today was different. Earlier, the team had learned that a family reported missing earlier that week had in fact been kidnaped by Sabertooth. Ever since Magneto's Acolytes had dissolved, all going their separate ways, Sabertooth had found work selling his services to the highest bidder.

Rogue was snapped out of her musing by a quick flash of movement ducking into an alley to her right. The flickering street lamp gave out less light than a cell phone, so any attempts to peer into the deep darkness beyond the high brick walls that flanked the opening like sentry guards were quickly dashed.

_Ah couldn't have absorbed a mutant with night vision_,_ now could Ah?_ Rogue thought, cursing her bad luck. _Not in the last ten or so minutes, anaway. _Letting out a defeated sigh, the southern mutant ran to the nearest shelled car and ducked down low to the ground, working on the assumption that whoever ran into the alley had senses heightened beyond normal human range.

_Figuas they'd send in me ta do battle with the big furball._ She thought, mentally cursing Scott Summers with every blue word she could muster. _Probably somewhere fused ta Jean by the mouth._

Rogue quickly leaned out to scan the area, then returned to her hiding place. She could see no one nor any further movement, so she made the decision to move. She rolled underneath the car and rapidly pulled her lithe body onto the curb and behind a foul-smelling trash can. Quietly breathing through her mouth in a vain attempt to avoid the stench of fetid garbage, she counted to ten in her head before darting out from behind the can and crouching in the entrance to the alleyway, hugging the leftmost wall.

_Where are ya, ya overgrown house pet_?_ Where's that stinkin' hide a yers?_ She hoped Kitty and Kurt were having better luck getting the hostages out.

If the situation was not so dire, Rogue might have let her thoughts turn to her low opinion of most of the other X-Men, and their in turn low opinion of her. Most of the students, save for Kitty and Kurt, went out of their way to avoid running into the southern goth. Then there was former Acolyte Remy Lebeau, who had the exact opposite problem. She couldn't get five minutes respite from him. However, given the situation, her thoughts were focused squarely on how she was going to take down Sabertooth, who had the distinct advantages of being seven feet tall, well over four hundred pounds, and having razor sharp talons.

Rogue quickly ruled out a frontal assault.

She stared down the alley with a studied ferocity in her eyes, combing the darkness for the most minute signs of life, when she suddenly felt an attack on her lower back that emanated with such a white-hot intensity that Rogue was certain she had been shot. When she bent her arm back to touch the wound, however, she was shocked to discover that there was none. The fervent attack that she felt was in fact coming from within her own being. The pain contained such venom that she bit her bottom lip until it bled just to keep from screaming. She let her shoulder fall into the weathered brick of the wall and clenched her eyes shut, wishing desperately that the pain would fade.

_Anaplace but here. Gawd, I'm nuthin' more than a sittin' duck!_ Rogue thought as the tears pooled in the corners of her heavily made-up eyes. She began to sweat profusely, even with the autumn chill of the Bronx floating through the air. The perspiration flowed from her pores as easily as water from an upturned bucket, soaking her two-toned hair and plastering her already skintight uniform even closer to her skin. Mentally, Rogue cursed her nearly infallible ability to attract only the worst of luck Here she was, trailing a mutant who was behaviorally one minute step above a rabid hyena in heat, and she was curled up in an alleyway next to a pile of newspaper, helpless to any foe that pleased to advance upon her. All of a sudden, above her, a mechanically androgynous voice echoed with pronunciation and clarity virtually unknown by all but the most dedicated of linguistics researchers.

_Hostage one rescued_. _Hostage two rescued. Hostage three rescued. Objectives for mutant signatures Nightcrawler and Shadowcat complete._ Rogue bitterly envied her two friends, probably both in the control room by the time the first rescued hostage was announced. She only hoped that Scott, their clueless leader, could somehow discern that she was in absolutely no condition to complete any sort of objective. Of course, she'd put down hard-earned money for the Statue of Liberty before she bet on Scott to make any sort of sensible decision. _Team loyalty before personal interests_ was what he had taken to saying during each meeting. She had hoped it wouldn't take the corpse of an X-man before he'd pull that giant stick out of his ass, but she had long ago decided that she was more than willing to pull out all the stops in the unceasing quest to pop the giant delusional ego balloon that was Scott Summers. Laying there in a puddle of her own sweat, too frozen with pain to even move, however, she made a vow to at least put that goal oh hiatus if he would only remove from this danger room inferno.

In the deep recesses of the darkened pathway beyond, she was vaguely aware of a growling and rumbling gradually approaching, but in her suddenly weakened state, she was powerless to mount even the most slipshod of defenses. The sounds she heard were faint, as though they were coming in from a great distance. Even the ragged draws of her own breathes sounded far away, as though someone was playing them through a radio at the softest possible volume. The acrid sweat continued to flow from every part of her poisonous skin in a flood, seemingly taking her energy and sanity with every new drop the condensed into the air. Rogue was huddled into the fetal position at this point, too delirious from the toxic mixture of her ever-rising body temperature and the paralyzing pain that constituted her lower back too react to any form of outside stimulus. Deep within her own brain, to which she was temporarily prisoner with all the other psyches she had absorbed, Rogue could only imagine how she looked to the outside world. The Great Untouchable lying helpless, exposed to even the attacks of a lone feather. She had taken down the most powerful mutant entity known to exist, yet her greatest enemy continuously proved to be the simple foe of her own mortal flesh and blood. In the background, far beyond her own thoughts, Rogue could scarcely make out the noise of her approaching antagonist getting ever closer, and the sounds of her own breathing becoming even more shallow and raspy, if such a feat were even possible. As her consciousness faded into nothing, her last thoughts drifted towards the one obstacle she could never overcome, that of her own prison that existed simply by her living.

_Kinda fittin' that it'd be what caused ma death. _Rogue thought reminiscently with equal parts resent and irony as the outside world faded into obscurity.

The hulking form appeared in the door way, stymieing even the faintest shards of light from entering the inky blackness beyond. The darkness extended onward for an eternity for an instant, only to be shattered by the blue paw coated in coarse blue fur of Dr. Henry McCoy, resident physician for the entire student and adult body that made up Xavier's grounds. Dr. McCoy walked over to the row of hospital beds that had been set up in the room adjoining the main infirmary, leading behind him a group of three men. Approaching one of the only two occupied beds of the ten that lined the walls and grasping the medical cipboard from the foot of the bed, Dr. McCoy began to address to his small but attentive entourage, speak with an eloquence and clarity that belied his mammoth six-foot height and four hundred pound frame.

"I am afraid I must be the messenger of both good and terrible news, my dear fellows. The good news is that I was able to isolate and treat our dear Rogue's UTI with little fuss. I have her on a simple intravenous Codine drip currently in order to ease her discomfort, and when she awakens I can prescribe her Trimethroprim, which will clear up the kidney infection."

"Do you have any idea as to the cause of it, or to why it hit so suddenly?" Professor Xavier asked in a faint British accent that seemed almost stereotypical for someone of his wealth. Despite being in a wheelchair due to paraplegia and displaying signs of age that placed him well beyond the years of anyone else in the room, it was obvious to even the most casual of observers that Xavier held a calm control over the entire conversation.

"It's not altogether unusual, although I will confess that it is not common either. I believe her body's immune system simply fought the infection on it's own until the bacteria became too strong, which is when she felt the onset of pain. As for the cause, there are two very common food-bourne bacteria that are the usual culprits, _Escherichia coli_ and _Staphylococcus_ _saprophyticus._" Dr. McCoy glanced up from the medical charts and graphs that made up so much of his life to make eye contact with his small audience. Almost immediately, it was apparent to him that of the three pairs of eyes upon him, only one understood what Hank had just said.

"Quit with the fancy speak, is Stripes gonna get better or not?" Logan asked the question with the same aggression and tenacity that accompanied nearly every sentence that left his mouth. Along with his hirsute facial features and readiness to extend the foot-long claws that had been surgically implanted in the webs of his hand over the most insignificant of infractions, he intimidated most, if not all of the younger students at the institute. The older students and adults, all of whom had been in close enough proximity with Logan for years, had simply gotten used to his outwardly abrasive personality and accepted it as another part of daily living.

"I'm as certain of it as the great Heracles was when he went to dip his arrows in the Hydra's blood." When greeted by a look on Logan's face that roughly read of mild distemper combined with extreme impatience and slight confusion, Hank decided to reword his previous statement. "The antibiotics I'm going to prescribe Rogue should take effect within three days, however I would recommend she remain on bedrest for at least a week."

"And den de _belle femme_ be back to normal?" While Remy Lebeau's slouched posture would seem to indicate a lackadaisical attitude towards the entire situation, the normal confidence that was contained his Cajun-accented voice was missing, replaced by a notable amount of worry.

"Barring any complications in her condition, I would say so."

"Hey, when I took her out of the Danger Room, Rogue smelled like a damned locker room. Was that serious or anything?" Logan attempted to coat this question in the same amount of enigmatic menace as what usually came out of his mouth, but the true nature of his concern still shone through the cracks in the facade.

"Not at all, my friend. A fever is a very common symptom of most UTIs, especially those in which the kidneys are under attack." Hank explained as he replaced the clipboard to it's original resting spot.

"Dere any chance o us gettin dis?"

"None whatsoever, Mr. Lebeau. A UTI is in no way an airborne virus." Hank paused, then continued. "Oh before I forget, Scott 's jaw is healing nicely, Logan." Remy arched an eyebrow, to which Logan 's face exhibited a mixture of amusement and disinterest, both emotions seemingly waging a quiet war for dominance.

"I told him to get her outta there. Next time I think red eye'll listen to me."

"Dis Cajun owes you a drink, _homme._" Upon hearing that statement, the amusement clearly won out.

"Logan, I would like to discuss that matter with you further in my office after this. Preferably before you and Mr. Lebeau go out drinking."

"Sure thing, Chuck." Turning his head back to Remy, Logan grinned. "Remember your wallet, Gumbo. I like the good stuff."

"Dat ain't gonna be a problem, Wolvie." Remy used the rare opportunity to use his favorite nickname to Logan's face. Logan's countenance changed for a split second to that of a man about to commit vicious homicide, then reverted just as quickly.

_I'll kill him after he pays for the drinks._

"Wha...?" A weak voice echoing through the disinfected air of the medical wing, distracting the primary attention of all from their petty squabbles. Rogue was a far cry from her usual appearance of the well-dressed and immaculately made-up goth. Her make was non-existant, leaving her looking even more pale than usual, almost to the point of translucent.

"Rogue, you're awake. How are you feeling?" Hank quickly moved the side of Rogue's bed, examining the computerized vital signs displayed on the computer monitor amchored to the wall.

"Ghtem herd aqwCufe." The concerned audience that encircled her stared in obvious confusion.

"_Quoi, Chere?"_

"Puht nder, Ghtem herd aqwCufe," Came Rogue's garbled reply. Confusing looks met with confusing looks as all four of the men in the room stared at Rogue in disbelief, while Rogue stared right back with the same look plastered firmly across her features. Hank pulled out a thin flashlight and, slipping on a specially designed medical glove, delicately held Rogue's eyelids open, checking her pupils.

"Hmm, your pupils aren't dilated. Rogue, can you hear what you're saying? Please just nod." Rogue nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Do you realize you're speaking nonsense?" This time, Rogue froze for several seconds, as though in a trance, before slowly shaking her head from side to side.

"Hank, what's wrong with her?" Charles asked as he leaned forward in his chair, concern etched into his face as though done by an accomplished sculptor.

Hank stared at Rogue, entranced. "I do not know, Professor." Hank used his lengthy arms to quickly snatch up Rogue's chart and let his eyes roam over every printed word and number. His concentration was soon shattered, however, by an audible yelp from Rogue as she began tearing at the mattress with a furious rage, tearing at the white sheets after hurling her pillow with all her strength, narrowly missing Logan. The four onlookers stood in dumbstruck awe, unsure of how to react to the sudden and violent mood swing. They were even more unprepared when Rogue unexpectedly stopped her heated attack on the bed linens and arched her back to a seemingly inhuman and torturous degree, then began to convulse as her back straightened and returned the rest of her body to the bed below.

"She's seizing! Quick, hold her down!" Showing great aptitude for thinking on their feet, Both Remy and Logan used some of the larger pieces of the sheet as a barrier between Rogue and her mutation. Running over to a stainless steel medicine cabinet and quickly producing a menacing hypodermic needle, Hank used his agility to move back to the distressed young girl and quickly injected the clear liquid into the bulging vein of Rogue's arm. It's effect was almost immediate, calming the young girl's muscles into an anxious sleep.

"Hank, is there any improvement in her condition?" Two weeks after her collapse in the danger room, Rogue's condition was no less a mystery. Both Xavier and McCoy had utilized every available resource the expanse of the mansion had to offer, all to no avail.

"Nothing seems to be having any positive effect on her condition. She simply continues to suffer as her own body turns against her in a whole new way." Xavier sighed and turned his wheelchair toward the wide floor-to-ceiling window the stood in the wall behind his rich mahogany desk. Cradling his head in his hand, he began to speak.

"Hank, I believe this condition may not be treatable...at least in this surrounding."

"I fear you may be right., Charles."

"In addition to Rogue's own safety, which is absolutely of the essence, I have happened to notice a adverse effect on several of the students, beginning with Kitty and Remy. Both have exhibited very severe depression ever since Rogue's episode in the lab. Even Logan hasn't been his usual self. We need to get Rogue to a hospital, and soon."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Charles, but I don't think any hospital in the area will be able to treat this any better than we have been able to." Hank thought for a split-second, then added grimly, " Nor do I believe they would be overly willing to."

"I must sadly admit that you make a valid point. However, you must know someone from your medical school days that owes you some sort of favor."

Hank studied the floor beneath his feet for a very long time, the silence crushing the two men. Then, as a lightbulb went off inside his mind, Hank regained eye contact with the professor.

"You know, there is one doctor I know who specializes in challenging diseases. He's very difficult to get a hold of, and his personality is caustically abrasive, but this problem seems right up his alley."

"Do you know where he is now?" Xavier asked hopefully.

"He's currently working in New Jersey."

"Say no more, Hank. I'll have Scott ready the van."

Author's Note: Number One, I don't own X-Men Evolution, or House. I'm simply a bored college student. Please let me know what you liked or disliked about this by reviewing. The next chapter will involve House more directly, and I hope to have it posted within a week, however, with July fourth, I can make no promises. Also, If you particularly enjoyed this, I have two other stories of FF. Again, thank you for reading, and please review!


	2. Chapter 2

1

A female voice rang out from the intercom system wired throughout the entire hospital.

"Would Doctor Gregory House please report to the office of Doctor Lisa Cuddy immediately." Though the question was phrased as a simple request, anyone with a working history of the hospital knew the sentence was anything but a request.

"You're not going to go, are you?"

"Do I ever?" Inside the free clinic section of the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, the section where every doctor, regardless of rank or experience, was required to put in a predetermined number of hours every week, sat two seasoned veterans of the medical profession. The stark difference between them and every other doctor currently putting in work at the clinic that these two doctors were huddled around not a sick patient but the tiny screen of a portable television.

"It could be important."

"As important as Sonny and Emily's relationship? I doubt it."

"They can say many things about you, Greg, but none can say that you don't have your priorities straight." His friend James Wilson mused, producing a little more than an irritated grunt from the hunched form of Dr. Gregory House, more intent to focus on the rapidly-moving plot of his favorite soap opera than whatever his boss had to say to him.

"Either I'm being sued by some idiot patient, I need to do more clinic hours, or she just found out about something I did behind her back. And of those three subjects, a grand total of none of them interest me in the slightest."

"Eventually you're going to run into her."

"Eventually I'm going to be able to watch General Hospital with you in silence, too." The abrupt tone in House's voice was a signal that, at least in his eyes, the conversation was over. Wilson merely signed and rested his forearm on his thigh, staring at the flickering screen of the television but making no effort to pay any attention to the rapidly moving plot of the soap playing before him. He had begun to devote more and more time to attempting to erode the high wall that House had begun to build upon with rapidity ever since Stacy's departure from the hospital. House had never been one to wear any of his emotions on his sleeve, instead using the masks of the tortured genius and the wronged man as a free pass for the most antisocial behavior he could muster. As the ending credits began to flow across the screen, Greg abruptly flicked the lilliputian electronic device off and folded the antenna behind the screen. He made no effort to stand up, however, seemingly more content to continue reposing upon the soft plastic of the examination table. Wilson, on the other hand, was up before his friend was able to tuck the miniature television into the pocket of his sport coat.

"I take it you're going to remain here until you've completed clinic for the day." Wilson stated. House bent and extended his right arm, checking the fine silver watch that wrapped around his wrist and arched his eyebrows in slight surprise.

"Actually, I'm caught up for the day." He replied, standing up in his own unique way, slanted to the side of his cane, but still upright enough to command attention. "I just need to get out without alerting the dungeon keeper." He stared at Wilson and cocked his head towards the cream-colored door of the examination room.

"You want me to go out and _check _for Cuddy?" Wilson asked, incredulous despite his long acquaintanceship with the diagnostician.

"Thanks, that'd be great." Wilson wanted to protest, but instead settled for an eye roll and made his way out the door and into the expansive waiting room beyond. After the time span of several seconds, Wilson returned to the original room, a bemused look on his face. He spoke in an exaggerated whisper.

"If you run, I think you just might be able to make it. But hurry, they've got every cop in the state hot on your tail." A smirk pulled at the corners of his lips despite himself.

"Cute. Don't you have a naive nurse somewhere to hit on?" House threw the insult over his shoulder as he limped out of the exam room at a speed belying his handicap. Unfortunately, his misplaced interest led him to walk directly into the form of Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of the hospital and the woman House was doing his best to avoid. She stood steadfast, with her lips pursed into a thin pucker and her eyes narrowed into slits so tiny one would assume she had them completely closed until they witnessed the trenchant daggers shooting from her eyes. Her arms were folded over her chest and the only movement she made was the constant tapping of her left high-heeled shoe. House stopped just in front of her stoic form, too startled to even make the weakest of comments at first.

"When I request you in my office immediately, do you assume immediately means whenever you feel like it?"

"No, I'm well aware of your meaning, I just like seeing you push your breasts up when you're angry." Said House with an hyperbolic leer.

"The only reason I don't keep you in this clinic for the rest of the day is because you have two urgent visitors in my office. If I were you, I'd be sure to thank them." Her tone was calm and unaffectionate, a tone that made clear even to Dr. House that this was not the time to make jokes

"Before we go any further, is this going to be a two-Vicoden or a three-Vicoden conversation?" House asked, pulling the diminutive translucent orange prescription bottle out of another pocket of his coat.

"Shut up and get in my office." Cuddy directed in a louder voice than she had intended, drawing the stares of several of the patients waiting to see a doctor. Her anger at House grew larger, if such a thing was possible. If she had been anywhere but in the hospital she had been put in charge of, she would have given serious consideration to slapping House across his unshaven cheek.

"Definitely three Vicoden." House commented as he shook out three small white pills into his palm and crunched them between his teeth, releasing the powerful painkiller into his system. He turned and followed the fast retreating form of Cuddy towards the clear glass double doors that led to her office, but not before throwing one last insult over his shoulder, this time directed at Wilson.

"How much is she paying you, Mr. Arnold?"

"Beyond my paycheck, nothing. I just didn't feel like devoting the rest of my day to hiding you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go treat some patients. You remember, the reason we work here." House either didn't her him or didn't care enough to respond, as he pushed his limping form through the doors Cuddy had so recently passed through without so much as a responsive grunt

There were very few times in life House ever found himself truly speechless. There had been times, few and far between, that he had been at a loss for a particular description of a disease or a symptom, but he had never been at a consummate loss for any word in his expansive vernacular. However, someone had once said that there was a first time for everything, and the time for speechlessness had apparently arrived. Cuddy's office was the largest of all the offices in the building, yet House could only concentrate on one thing in the whole room, and that was the hulking blue form that stood off to the right side near two rich leather chairs, his colossal size being the obvious reason why he choose to stand rather than sit. Cuddy had adjusted much easier, already sitting behind the oak desk that sat like a humble alter below the wide curtained window on the polar wall from the double wood doors, paneled with glass as further testament to the hospital's unspoken hatred of any semblance of privacy.

"Good afternoon Doctor House, thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

"Well, you know me, I always make time for...whatever the hell you are." House responded, earning a death glare from his boss.

"I'm not surprised you don't recognize me; I am cognizant of the fact I have changed my appearance slightly. I am Doctor Henry Philip McCoy, and my companion you see here is my generous benefactor and friend, Professor Charles Francis Xavier." Both men extended their arms in an attempt to shake House's hand. House, however, ignored both men and collapsed on the couch opposite them with an overstated sigh and began to tap his cane on the carpeted floor of Cuddy's office.

"Wonderful greeting, Dr. House. Are you completely incapable of human interaction?" Cuddy asked, too exasperated over the behavior of her employee in the past ten minutes to worry about how it looked to reprimand him in front of distinguished visitors. Hank held up a hand in towards Cuddy.

"Please relax, Doctor Cuddy. I am well acquainted with Doctor House's particular behavioral peculiarities, and as such I have prepared Professor Xavier for this as well." Cuddy let out her own exasperated sigh to match House's previous one, but said nothing further. She returned to her seat and yielded the conversation to Dr. McCoy's control. However, as Hank began to speak, House interrupted the intended speech as a sudden realization hit him.

"Dr. McCoy! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you with the new fur coat. Certainly a bit out of style, but then you were never a style-conscious person, were you?"

"A mere result of a miscalculation in my personal mutant gene suppression serum. I dare say I've gotten used to the extra warmth since its first appearance."

"I'm so happy for you. Now are you going to tell me why you came here?"

"Certainly. One of the students at the school I am currently employed by, run by Professor Xavier, has recently come down with a most peculiar disease. It presented itself right after she was admitted to our medical bay with a Urinary Tract Infection-"

"You called me in for a Urinary Tract Infection?" House directed his incredulous query towards Dr. Cuddy, but it was obvious he was miffed at everyone in the room.

"House, shut up or you'll work double clinic hours for a month!" Cuddy snapped, obviously feeling both heated anger at the misbehaving doctor under her command, and heated embarrassment towards not only having to argue with but threaten a doctor in front of such important visitors. Everyone in the room, including the usually calm and collected Charles Xavier, recoiled a slight bit at the sound of Cuddy's venting ire. Noticing the reaction she was receiving after glaring at House for several uninterrupted seconds, she exhaled a long breath and turned to face Henry.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. Please continue; I can assure you there will be no more interruptions." Cuddy said in the most diplomatic tone she could muster given the current atmosphere in the room, however she still directed the last part of her sentence towards Dr. House rather than Dr. McCoy.

"It's no problem, I can assure you. As I was saying beforehand, one of our students recently suffered a particularly severe UTI. After I treated the infection, however, our charge displayed severe Transcortical Motor Aphasia and uncontrollable rage before suffering a massive seizure. In the past week, she has also displayed an apparent loss of thermoregulation. I've run just about every test I am currently aware of with the equipment provided at the mansion, however I have yet to come anywhere near an answer as to what our dear Rogue has come down with." House barely waited for the words to cease their eloquent travel from Henry's maw before responding in his own uniquely brusque fashion.

"Congratulations, whatsername is on drugs. From what you've described, I'd say she's discovered the magical delights that can only come from PCP and amphetamines, most likely low-grade."

"I've run tests for every recreational drug that is currently on the market. No positive results." House's face fell slightly, however he remained undaunted.

"STD?" At this guess, Henry and Charles exchanged nervous glances and hemmed and hawed for several seconds before Charles finally spoke up, bringing the tips of his fingers together in a framework triangle and leaning back into his chair.

"Rogue's specific mutation manifested itself through her skin. Specifically, she absorbs people's memories, powers, and even their very life force if the contact is prolonged enough. I have attempted to help her gain control of her gift numerous times, however every attempt has met with failure." House's face contorted into a mask of thought at the sound of the British telepath's words.

"So no drugs and no STD's. No chance this girl absorbed a couple of Hell's Angels, is there?"

"None whatsoever." Charles responded, either choosing to ignore the bleak humor in House's statement or missing it completely.

"Okay then. Cuddy will have one of the nurses check her in, and I'll go round up the usual gang of idiots." Before House could so much as move his cane, however, Cuddy spoke up, freezing him in his tracks.

"She was checked in forty-five minutes ago. She's in the second floor ICU."

"You checked her in _before _coming to find me? What's the matter Cuddy; you don't trust me?"

"Why Dr. House, I trust you almost as much as a mouse trusts a starving cat." replied Cuddy in a greatly exaggerated and sickly sweet voice.

"Fine, I'm going. Second floor you said?"

"Wait, _you're _going to visit a patient?"

"No, but Cameron gets annoyed whenever I send her to the wrong room, and she makes the coffee." House said as he grabbed the file Dr. McCoy handed to him, making sure to get in the last snide comment before leaving. Cuddy closed her eyes and shook her head, rubbing her temples in an attempt to eliminate the migraine that seemed to arrive every time House exited her office.

"I apologize for Dr. House's behavior. He is an excellent doctor, unfortunately, he has the emotional maturity of a three year old."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Dr. Cuddy. Henry previously informed me off Dr. House's unusual social graces. As long as he can get my student better, I have no issue with how he chooses to interact with us."

"You certainly seem to have more patience than I do, Professor. However, I'm willing to bet you don't deal with Gregory House on a daily basis."

"You would be correct there."

"If I may interject," Dr. McCoy started, "I was curious to know what my access to Rogue's condition will be now that she is under the supervision of this hospital."

"It's not often we get someone who actually requests to spend time around Dr. House. As long as you let me know when you arrive, I don't think it will be a problem, at least not for me. House won't be happy, but he can suck it up."

"Thank you very much for your hospitality, Dr. Cuddy." Stated Henry, wrapping his paw around Cuddy's hand in a warm handshake.

"Sixteen-year-old female presents with a Urinary Tract Infection, high fever, fits of rage and seizures. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, what's the differential diagnosis?" House leaned against the tall dry-erase board that stood in the middle of the conference room part of the Department of Diagnostic Medicine. At the modern glass table sat Dr. Robert Chase and Dr. Eric Foreman, both med school graduates finishing their teachings under the tutelage of House.

"Am I seeing this correctly? The great and powerful Gregory House is treating a simple drug overdose?" Foreman asked, incredulous at the inversed behavior of his superior.

"No drugs. Oh, and I forgot one more symptom." House bent down and scrawled _inability to control mutation_ under _seizures_. After reading the new information, Chase snorted, annoyed.

"You've got us treating a mutant?"

"I would assume that's what I meant when I wrote the word _mutation_ on the board."

"I hate mutants."

"I don't recall love being part of a differential diagnosis. So let's hear some suggestions." House said, popping another valium. House had never had a soft spot for the Australian, considering him the least useful of his

"If it's not drugs, next best suspect is something in the brain, most likely a tumor. But I've got a better question. How are you so sure it's not drugs?" Foreman was the one doctor in the whole hospital younger than House who could match him in terms of arrogance and pure stubborn willpower. House would dent it to the grave, but the truth of the matter was that House respected the young Doctor's opinion, and House was one to respect the opinions of a select few individuals.

"Well, if it's cancer, then let oncology deal with it."

"What's your problem with mutants anyway?"

"They're a danger to society. Do you want people who can read your mind walking about freely? There are mutants that can walk through walls, mutants that can make fire simply by concentrating. And you want them walking around free?"

"All you're doing is falling for propaganda. They're saying things now about mutants that they said about blacks in the forties. For once in your life, use something besides a lab coat to show you went to medical school."

"This is not propaganda. Every night they've got these mutants on the news, killing innocent people. Last time I checked, there weren't any African-Americans that could bring down a building by simply running through it." House was watching the childish argument play out before him with a mixture of bemusement and vexation. Bemusement because he took a perverse sort of pleasure whenever his two male lackeys got into a pissing contest, which was at least twice a week, and vexation because the more time they took to bicker meant it would take longer to actually treat the patient, which in turn meant it would be even longer before he could do anything that wasn't actual work. Haunted by the looming danger that was physical exertion, he quickly broke up the playground scuffle playing out in front of him.

"Hey, you two can take turns measuring your genitals on your own time. Last time I checked you two still worked for me, so start."

"I'll tell you right now, I'm not treating a mutie."

"Your choices are treat the patient or answer my mail, and I'm fairly positive Cameron wouldn't appreciate having you horn in on her action. It's basically the same thing as when two women wear the same dress to a party." As House finished his putdown, none other than Dr. Henry McCoy, proving to all that doubted that there was, in fact, a god of impeccably bad timing.

"I certainly hope I am not interrupting anything." Chase turned to face the guest, his face first a mask of pure shock, then quickly transforming to that of a violent disgust. Finding his voice through the red spirit in his eyes, he spoke quickly and short, not using a single word than what was necessary.

"You're not interrupting anything. I was just leaving." As Chase pushed his way past the large blue man that stood within the room, he turned back to House, nothing less than pure hatred within his corneas.

"I'll be in the clinic, treating _humans."_ The word _humans_ was spat with such a lethal venom that, even after Chase was out the door and down at the elevators some distance away, the three still inside the conference room were busy in awe. House was the first to speak up.

"Just ignore him. He's always cranky when the cafeteria forgets to put the beet on his burger."

"I apologize for...that. I'm Dr. Eric Foreman." He said, extending his hand as he stood up from his metal chair.

"Dr. Henry McCoy, and you have nothing to apologize for, young sir. Everyone in the world has their opinion."

"Yea, I think I read somewhere that they're like something else everyone has. Now, let's get back to our patient. I'm sure you're every bit as good as you were in med school, with the added bonus of shedding."

"I am hopeful that I will be able to aide you to the best of my abilities. I trust you have always placed Rogue in an ice bath?"

"Yea. She was pretty upset to be torn away from my mail, but thems the breaks in our profession." Just then, both Foreman and House's beepers went off. As they stared at the glowing LCD screen, their faces simultaneously became grim.

"What is it? What happened?" Asked Henry.

Author's Note: There it is, chapter two. As was the case with chapter one, I own neither X-Men: Evolution nor House. Those are all the property of...someone. I'm sure of it. I now owe some thanks to a few people.

_NightGoddess: _Ask, and ye shall receive. Glad you enjoyed that chapter; I hope you enjoy this one.

_The Writer With No Name:_ Glad you enjoyed that one; I hope you enjoy this one. As for what Rogue's in for...wait and see.

_Ishandahalf:_ Dude, you're pretty much O.G. on this board, so I was thrilled to read your review. As for Rogue and House butting heads, it will happen, but not for some time. Also, glad you enjoy Hank. Beast is one of my favorites, so I'm glad to know he sounds like he should. Hope you enjoy the chapter

To everyone else who read, thank you so much. I hope to have the next chapter up within the week, but I'm preparing to go back to college, so the wait may be sightly longer. Now go review, and your teeth will whiten magically.


	3. Chapter 3

"So what's the deal with the kid?" Logan half-asked, half snarled at the back of Dr. Alison Cameron.

"We've got her in an ice bath right now. Her fever is unusually high, so this treatment will bring down her temperature to a more manageable level." Alison explained, turning rom the monitor to face the fearsome man. Alison had an innate ability to talk to just about anyone with a smile on her face, regardless of her opinion of them. Right at that moment, Dr. Cameron was frightened of the demeanor exuded by the hirsute man before her, but she never let it show, even for a second.

"So den de _femme_ gonna be better?" Remy asked, his concern making his Cajun accent even thicker than usual. Cameron gave the tall man a weak smile.

"No, but this will allow us to find out what's wrong. With a temperature of one hundred and four, any surgery or tests we would need to run would be pretty dangerous." She paused. "How long has she lived with you guys?" Scott was the first to speak up, his words slow and slightly garbled due the sizeable bruise on the left side of his jaw.

"She's lived with us about three years." He cradled his jaw with his and, even with the red lenses that heavily obscured his eyes, Alison could tell he was wincing in pain.

"Is-is your jaw alright? Maybe I should take a look at it." There was a small screech of metal which Dr. Cameron attributed to a nurse moving medical equipment, however she did note Scott's abrupt adjustment in posture.

"Kid's fine, ain't that right? He just fell down some stairs." Logan answered as he stuck his hand behind Scott's back and extended his claws slightly, digging into the young man's back with a modicum of pressure.

"I...I fell down some stairs." Scott managed to gulp out as Logan sheathed his claws. Alison continued with the history, oblivious to the method of persuasion Logan was implementing.

"Well, I'll see if we can get you checked out. Do you know where she lived before she came to live with you?" Unlike the curious sort of dread Alison felt when she had talked to Logan, she felt no dangerous presence coming off of Scott.

"Yea, she lived in a...boarding house near the high school." Scott answered, unsure of how to discuss Rogue's living arrangements prior to her recruitment into the X-Men.

"Tm derl xjrnm." Came a chattering reply from the subject of their current discussion.

"_Chere? _You feelin alright in there?"

"Tm sxlf duwemje." Rogue answered, anger present in her garbled words.

"Let me check her temperature, it usually doesn't take long for the ice bath to do it's work." Cameron answered as she stuck the receiving end of the thermometer into the young woman's ear. Almost immediately, Dr. Cameron's face fell at the sight of the digital numbers before her. Instinctively, she reached down to the black pager clipped to her belt and pushed the button that alerted her entire department to a problem.

* * *

"Congratulations, Dr. McCoy. You've managed to discover the world's first cold-blooded mammal." After removing Rogue from the ice bath and quickly warming her up, Dr. McCoy, Dr. Cameron, and Dr. Foreman sat within the conference room as Dr. House paced back and forth with his signature lopsided swagger.

"I was worried when her fever climbed so high, but this is simply astounding. Her body has lost all abilities to regulate it's internal temperature. It is now adapting to her surroundings. In all my years of medicine, I've never seen anything that even approaches this condition."

"I still say this is a brain tumor. It's the only thing I can think of that would come close to explaining all the symptoms."

"You neurologists are all alike." Said House offhandedly as he stopped his pacing to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Do you have a better explanation? Or did you just get tired of making sweeping generalizations about black people so now you're making sweeping generalizations about neurologists?"

"Oh Foreman, you know I could never get tired of making generalizations about your people." Said House as he limped towards the table and pulled out a chair, kicking his Chuck Taylors onto the table as he leaned back and rested the full cup of coffee on his pelvis. With a cursory sideways glance towards the board of symptoms, he continued. "Brain tumor does seem like the best bet. However, it's too common. Cameron, Henry, any idea what can cause someone to have seizures and lose complete control of their body temperature?"

"I must agree with Dr. Foreman; a brain tumor would be my primary guess. However, there could be some damage to the ventricles and atria of the heart as well. Also, I would like to add that I do not believe that Rogue's inability to control her mutation is related to this disease" Henry stated as he rubbed the fur on his chin thoughtfully. House glanced down at the scribbles he had made on the boards and grimaced thoughtfully.

"Well, let's keep it on there. If it is a brain tumor, we don't know what's a symptom and what isn't."

"Could it be some sort of allergic reaction, like lead?." interjected Dr. Cameron. "Or maybe something environmental?" Before House could respond with a sarcastic answer, Henry replied in a kinder manner.

"I highly doubt that the cause of her sickness is anything environmental. No one at the institute as come down with so much as a mild case of pharyngitis." Despite Henry's preference for more regal words, the calm tenor of his voice enabled him to speak in his uniquely regal voice without sounding as though he was talking down to anyone."However, lead poisoning fits these symptoms quite nicely."

"Lead poisoning. The lowered IQ manifested itself with speech aphasia. Interesting. Ok, Order an MRI for the head, then run a Cardiac CT. If both of those come back negative, test her blood for lead." House let out his command, happy to send out others to do the menial work he wasn't overly interested in doing himself. As the two young doctors got up to go do the medical tests required, House swung his feet from the table and made his way to his adjoining office, remembering there was a mission on _Liberty City Stories_ he wanted to beat before skipping out early. As he settled into the soft leather of his desk chair and flicked the power switch for his handheld toy, he became vaguely aware of Dr. McCoy's lingering presence within the room. He concentrated intently on the pixilated form of Toni Cipriani, hoping that Henry would get the message.

"Gregory, I wish to let you know that I did not mean to cause any friction between you and your staff." Without so much as a cursory glance from the miniature screen, House responded.

"Are you kidding? I should thank you. Without the wombat here, the conference room finally stopped smelling like Vegemite." Henry let out a low chuckle despite his polite nature.

"Your viewpoint remains as unique as ever, Gregory. However, I do believe I will find my way to the Magnetic Resonance imagining machine. Hopefully I can be of some service to your staff." Henry plodded back through the conference room and down the hall, leaving House alone in his office chasing an ambulance with a flamethrower.

* * *

"Right now I'm injecting you with a low-grade radioactive isotope. When we turn on the machine, it will let us see your brain in 3-D. Don't worry about the radiation; I know it sounds pretty scary, but this is very safe. We do it all the time here." Cameron gave the young girl laying on the metal slab a small smile. Rogue had a fleece blanket wrapped around the hospital-issue gown she had been dressed in when she arrived at the hospital. It was a haphazard way to keep Rogue's body temperature at a safe level, however it was the only way to perform the tests necessary. Cameron gave the girl another small smile as she removed the needle from Rouge's vein. "I'm going to be right over there behind the glass with my co-worker, Dr. Foreman, and your teacher, Dr. McCoy. We know you can't talk, so if anything happens, just make as much noise as you can and we'll pull you out. Other than that, We'll need you to lie as still as possible." Cameron gave the thin girl another weak yet sincere smile and left to run the machine from the windowed room where Dr. Foreman already sat. As the button was pressed and Rogue's pale, swaddled body slid into the machine with mechanical precision, the sound of thousand dollar gears working together in a precise fashion that only came with a private expense account, Cameron turned to Dr. McCoy.

"So you knew Dr. House in medical school, huh?"

"Yes, I can recall the day quite clearly. I remember thinking it was quite odd that someone could spend entire classes of Advanced Neurology reading comic books and yet still ace tests. I remarked to him about this unusual quirk, and from there began a curious and tenuous companionship." Foreman snorted at this, however did not turn from the monitors that were beginning to broadcast the virtual representation of Rogue's gray matter.

"House making friends, now there's something you don't hear about every day."

"I halt a bit shy of calling it a friendship. One thing I'm positive you must have noticed about your boss is that he does not make friends in the same manner others go about a friendship."

"It's a hard thing to miss about him." stated Foreman in a plainspoken manner, finally making eye contact with Henry, albeit by looking over his shoulder at the blue mutant. As he glanced back to the screen, his eyes temporarily widened. "Hey guys, take a look at this." The two doctors in the room crowded around the flat screen of the high-tech computer monitor.

"Oh my stars and garters..."

"You were right, Foreman. Brain tumor, right in the middle of the frontal lobe." Cameron's eyes widened behind her thin rimless glasses.

* * *

Had Rogue been in better health, had she been in her usual demeanor and wearing her normal mask of make-up instead of sweat, Rogue probably would have found Dr. Cameron sickening. Her classical good looks, the poise and good nature and the general air of warmth and sincerity that lurked around the girl like a specific scent. Rogue hated all those things about Jean, and this Dr. Cameron reminded her of Jean in several ways. However, Rogue was in terrible health at the moment, and as such had little time to concentrate on her particular feelings toward the young doctor. Rogue could barely remember the past few weeks, with only brief clips and cuts of random people standing over her. She could see Hank standing over her, reading off a clipboard and using obscure medical jargon she couldn't recognize. She could see Logan, chugging a beer and muttering random threats. There was Scott, making ineffectual attempts to apologize while still stressing the importance of team practice and adverse conditioning, all through a bruised jaw. There were wisps of Kitty standing by her bed, filling her in on the latest gossip from around the mansion, all of which blended together into an unintelligible and uniform blur. She was almost certain Kurt was there with Kitty, but he might have been there separately and her wrecked brain was simply combining two autonomous memories. Then there was Remy. Ever since her first seizure, he had more or less set up camp in the medical lab of the mansion. At first, Hank had come in every few hours to break up Remy's solo vigil over Rogue's damaged form, but the former thief had just figured out ways to enter the med lab without using the actual entrance. Eventually, Hank had just taken to ignoring the boy and letting him keep watch over the girl. Rogue would have gladly taken up where Dr. McCoy had left off had she not been on a cocktail of painkillers and sedatives that left her sleep the majority of the time. As it was, she just alternated between resenting and appreciating Remy's presence next to her. Her feelings on everyone else were, at least her eighteen-year-old mind, very black and white. Remy was the one person she knew who existed in a gray area. Rogue could think of several reasons why the Cajun thief should be kept at arms length, most of which involved an exploding card or knockout gas, yet she never truly pushed him away permanently. Rogue, unlike her California-born friend, did not believe in the warm fuzzy dreams of soul mates and candle light dinners. However, Rogue was cognizant that there was a specific feeling Remy brought up within her that the other males at the institute did not even approach. In fact, as the florescent lights within the white metal tube sprang to life, Rogue's addled mind was only able to successfully come up with two valid reasons why she continuously kept Remy at arm's length. The first was the mutation she constantly viewed as a curse of the highest order, which led into her second reason Remy was incredibly overbearing, sexually charged, the walking definition of the Alpha male. Rogue could have spent hours upon hours pondering the different aspects of her paramour, however, once the machine started working and the cacophonous pounding commenced, Rogue found her thoughts drowned in a sea of noise.

* * *

"I ran into Chase down at the clinic a few minutes ago."

"Ah, Chase. How is the little wombat doing?" House and Wilson walked around the fourth floor of the hospital in an odd sort of afternoon constitutional that often meant House had to think and had grown frustrated with his video games.

"He seemed pretty upset with the idea of you treating a mutant."

"I assume you told him that we were a teaching hospital."

"I did, after which he told me I didn't understand the threat mutants posed, grabbed the nearest file to him and stormed off into one of the exam rooms."

"Chase needs to learn that you can't pick and choose your patients."

"Yes, I wonder where he learned that behavior. Who could have possibly taught Dr. Chase that we get to pick who we treat."

"_I_ get to choose my patients because I have my name on the door. When Chase gets his name on door, he can choose. Until then, he's my property."

"It's always refreshing to see a doctor who considers his team as chattel." House obviously had a sarcastic response dancing on the tip of his tongue, however at that moment, Foreman and Cameron approached the two senior doctors with a file crammed with translucent black printouts of MRI scans of Rogue's brain.

"The patient has a brain tumor. Four centimeters in the frontal lobe. We remove it, all her symptoms should clear up." Foreman stated in a calm, neutral tone, his eyes the only thing betraying his momentary feeling of superiority over his boss.

"And the reason it takes two of you to tell me this?" House snatched the files from Cameron's hand and held them up to the light emanating from the ceiling.

"Because you were also right." said Cameron, knowing that Foreman wouldn't say it. "The tumor is affecting her powers. Remove it, she'll gain control."

"Great. Get her scheduled for an OR tomorrow first thing. Where's the smurf?" House handed the plastic sheet back to Cameron, who tucked it back within the light tan manilla envelope that she cradled under her arm.

"Dr. McCoy is busy informing the rest of his party of what we discovered." Foreman stressed the name _Dr. McCoy_, as though House was using the slightly derogatory nickname because he simply didn't know Henry's real name.

"Is it too much to assume he's going to inform the patient too?"

"We're on our way there." Cameron sighed, exasperated at House's near paranoid fear of coming in contact with anyone he was treating. House watched his two team members walk off in the direction of the ICU before turning to Wilson.

"I assume you can schedule someone from Oncology who isn't a total moron."

"I'm free tomorrow morning. I can do the surgery." Through the years at Princeton Plainsboro, Wilson had learned how to decode House's secret language. When House said he wanted someone to do the surgery who wasn't a complete moron, it really meant he wanted Wilson to do the surgery and was too worried about his pride to come right out and ask.

* * *

Rogue lay in her hospital after the surgery, her newly shorn head tightly wrapped in a white gauze bandage. Tubes ran from her arm, delivering nutrients to her bloodstream. The surgery to remove the tumor lasted six grueling hours, nevertheless, the job was accomplished. The abnormal brain tissue had been removed, and Rogue was expected to make a full recovery. Now, nearing midnight, Rogue was mostly alone in the recovery ward.

Mostly.

Lurking within the shadows, hidden from the watchful eye of any patrolling nursing staff, stood Remy LeBeau. His unique eyes scanning the surrounding hallway, he discreetly observed the object of his affections, waiting for her to stir. Of all the travelers from Charles Xavier's mansion, he was the only one still in the hospital. Both Charles and Henry had since retired to the hotel room about a mile from the hospital. Scott was outside his own hotel room, having a very intimate conversation with his long-time girlfriend and fellow mutant Jean Grey. Logan was dealing with Rogue's recent surgery by getting into several dangerous bar fights interspersed randomly with drinking contests, taking full advantage of his healing factor, which worked just as well with ingested intoxicants as it did with outside attacks. That just left Gambit, who had long since snuck past the distracted Scott Summers to head back to the hospital to keep watch over Rogue. He had been waiting almost two hours to see some sign of fully conscious life, not counting the daylight hours, where he'd left the room only twice, once to grab a smoke and once to eat. Both breaks had lasted under ten minutes. Making one last check of the hall, Remy moved out from the shadows and approached Rogue's hospital bed, using the low beep of her heart monitor to disguise his footsteps.

"_Chere?_" He whispered in a voice so low even he wasn't sure heard. He felt a glimmer of hope within him as she let out a low groan. He raised his voice slightly, still keeping it a whisper though. "_Chere_, I don't know if you can hear me o not, but I got someti'ng to say. Lately, I been sayin a lot to you, but ever since you had dat seizure down in de med lab, I been t'inking bout what you mean ti me. I ain't gonna tell you any more lies. You one of de mos intriguing _femmes_ I ever had de pleasure o meetin I never cared bout de mutation either. I ain't gonna care if de tumor dey took out of yer head fixes your mutation o not, cause I know dat you gonna get control someday. One date, Rogue. All I want is one date ti show you how I feel." Remy was gently massaging the bandage that was wrapped where Rogue's unique two-toned hair had so recently been. He watched Rogue's closed eyelids intently, waiting for even the briefest flash of her green eyes. As he was about to turn away, ready to head back to the motel for another night of fitful, restless sleep, the type of sleep that had been plaguing him for two weeks. That was when he heard it. A muted mumble, the type of noise that would have been indistinguishable had it not been for the relative quiet of the midnight hour. Remy spun around with lightning quickness to face what he hoped was the source of the noise.

"Rogue?"

"Qrig she lods menf it?" Remy made his way back to the side of the hospital bed in a flash, grasping Rogue's bare hand in his own gloved one.

"You ain't supposed ti be talkin like dat anymore, Rogue. Dey took dat tumor out of yer head dis morning." Remy was too wrapped up in Rogue's eyes to notice that the beeping from Rogue's heart monitor was gradually quickening in it's pace. He did, however, notice when her breathing became clipped and shallow and her eyes began to roll back into her head. Panic gripped Remy as he bolted from Rogue's side to the sliding door to the room and, gripping the metal handle of the door, leaned out into the hall and shouted for help, no longer caring about the secrecy of the after-hours visit. As Rogue began to convulse and thrash about on the bed, Remy let is accented voice echo throughout the floor.

"Nurse! Nurse! Someone! We need help in here!"

* * *

A/N: This is the chapter that would not be written. I suppose every story must have one. Also, I think I've discovered that I can not write romance. In any case, I've replied to you lovely reviewers personally, however it was brought to my attention that I was throwing around a couple of medical terms. I meant to define them after the last chapter, but I apparently had some sort of brain lapse and forgot. So, here are the definitions.

Transcortical Motor Apashia: this means that you can understand what others are saying, but you yourself cannot communicate .

Thermoregulation: Your body's ability to control temperature. The loss is sometimes referred to as a fever.

If I use any other medical terms that I haven't seen on House, I'll try to remember to define them. Hopefully I can get out two more chapters before college time sts in. I just got the last of things cleared for my room, so that's one thing out of the way. Again, thank you to everyone who reviewed, and please keep the reviews coming.


	4. Chapter 4

"What's happened?" Cameron moved through the glass doors of the hospital with a speedy foot, barely ten minutes after Foreman alerted her to what had happened in Rogue's room.

"Our patient just had another seizure, big one too. According to the guy that was in her room, she was also speaking in gibberish, just like before we removed the brain tumor" Foreman had been on call for that night, and therefore had front row seat to what had occured barely one half-hour previous. "I've got her under sedation right now." The two doctors bypassed the usual route of elevators and jogged up the oak stairs, taking them two at a time with the second floor ICU their final destination. Their footsteps landed with echoes in the mostly empty building.

"Did you call House and Chase yet?"

"Right after I called you, not that I expect to see either one of them." Foreman pushed the metal door of the stairwell open and ran out in the direction of Rogue's room, Cameron hot on his heels.

"Did you check her Ivs? Maybe a nurse-"

"That was the first thing I thought of. All at the right levels. This is something else." Dr. McCoy, Professor Xavier, Scott and Remy crowded the hospital room, all anxiously awaiting the doctors.

"What's happening? I thought you said Rogue was all better." Scotts tone existed somewhere between worry and accusation.

"There was a brain tumor located in her frontal lobe. Unfortunately, it would appear that there's another factor at work." Foreman's tone was neutral as he clutched the metal clipboard close to his chest. Glancing down at the paper, he continued. "The good news is that by removing the tumor, her formerly uncontrollable powers are now controllable. The placement of the tumor was such that her powers were constantly on." This seemed to appease the young man, who stuck his hands in the pockets of his khakis and leaned back against the wall, keeping an ever-watchful eye on the goings on of the room.

"How much danger is Rogue currently in?" Professor Xavier asked.

"Right now, it's hard to tell. She's just gotten out of major surgery, so there's a small chance that this seizure could be nothing more than a fluke. However, we're going to run some tests to make sure." As Foreman addresed the concerned men in front of him, Cameron was busying herself by studying the printouts from the numerous machines that were monitoring Rogue's condition.

"But Rogue was talkin like she was before de surgery." Remy questioned.

"I'm sure it was nothing. Many people act unusually right before a seizure." Cameron spoke before her colleague had a chance, giving Remy another warm smile before heading out of the hospital room along with Foreman.

"I've so trained you guys well. Really, I'm proud. My little ducklings are already lying at an eighth grade level." Standing just outside of Rogue's room, separated from the crowded condition within, stood House, his cane in one hand and a paper cup of coffee from a high-end coffee shop in the other. At the sound of his voice, both of the young doctors jumped, not expecting to hear the gruff articulation of their mentor at the late hour.

"What-What are you doing here?" Foreman spoke first, his question coming out more accusatory than intended. If it affected House, however, he didn't let show, merely taking a sip of his coffee and standing in his jeans and sport coat as though it was early afternoon and not the

deep recesses of twilight.

"I work here. Didn't you get the memo? Now, are there any more stupid questions?" House took another sip of coffee, never losing the smug appearance that he had been wearing

ever since surprising his two diagnosticians.

"We didn't lie. We told them exactly what happened." Cameron's tone made it painfully obvious that she did not wish to discus what House was hinting at, least of all in such close proximity to Rogue and her caretakers.

"Sure, lie some more. That'll fix everything. Now come on, we've got a white board getting lonely on the fourth floor." As House turned with his cane and headed toward the elevator, Foreman shook his head at House, while Cameron let out an angry breath through her nose and followed, her stress already hitting a dangerous level, especially considering the late hour.

* * *

As the three doctors climbed aboard the elevator, the doorway from the stairwell was thrown open with a violent thrust. Onto the black tile stepped the seething form of Logan, the blood of a certain Louisiana native the only thing on his mind. Using his inborn stealth, he crept through the shadows that lay scattered across the poorly lit hallway. He let three claws extend from his right hand as he caught the tall form of one Remy Lebeau. Ducking behind a thick column that stood tall no more than fifteen feet from the entrance of the room where Rogue lay in a hospital bed. 

_I knew that stinkin' Cajun was no good. Shoulda acted on my instincts the first time I smelled those damned cloves he's always smoking._ _ When I'm through with him_, Logan thought with a cruel grin, _What he did to Rogue's gonna seem like a vacation. _He took a deep breath, saying a small thanks that his healing factor worked just as well on alcohol as it did with bullets. Once Scott moved out of the way, leaving a clear path from the column to Gambit, Logan let his inner animal take over, fully becoming the Wolverine he was known as on the cataclysmic battlefield. He sped across the speckled linoleum with a cutthroat fervor, silent even with a pair of thick leather combat boots decorating his feet. Before anyone in the room had time to blink, Logan had bolted into the room and had Remy's neck in the makeshift vice that formed between Logan's left forearm and the wall, the claws from his free hand held steady no more than a millimeter from Remy's distinct eyes, eyes that right now flashed a deep red with fear.

"What'd you give the kid, Gumbo? Huh? I know you drugged her!" Logan snarled through gritted teeth as Dr. McCoy and Scott both quickly distanced themselves from the altercation, both well aware of Logan's notoriously short fuse. Only Professor Xavier made no attempt to distance himself from the fray, his wheelchair remaining motionless.

"Logan, what is the meaning of this?" Despite his obvious disadvantage, Charles' soft but firm voice seemed sufficient to break Logan from his animalistic spell, and his claws retracted back under his skin. His forearm, however, did not move, continuing to constringe Remy's larynx as the young man gasped and sputtered for air.

"This Cajun poisoned Rogue, Chuck. I don't know with what, but I aim at gettin some answers." Logan punctuated his explanation with a quick thrust of his arm into Gambit's neck.

"That is preposterous. Unhand him now, Logan." Logan complied, but the small growl that emanated from the pit of his throat said that he was anything but happy about. Remy hit the floor in a heap, taking in deep, greedy gulps of air as he massaged his throat.

"What do you want me to do? Just sit by while Rogue gets poisoned?"

"Not at all. I merely expect you wait for some semblance of proof before attacking one of my students. If your suspicions prove correct, we will deal with Mr. Lebeau in the proper, lawful

manner."

"Remy ain't poison no one, least of all de _femme."_ Remy's breathing had slowed nearer to it's normal pace, and he was slowly pulling himself back up a standing position. A tense,

nervous air settled over the room as Remy, Logan, and Charles exchanged glances for a silent eternity of an instant.

"Logan, I need you to head back to the mansion." Charles paused, already expecting to hear Logan's protests.

"Why? Just because I roughed the Cajun up a little, you're sendin me back to Bayville?"

"Not exactly. Earlier in the evening, Ms. Munroe contacted me. She informed me that she was having some degree of difficulty controlling the children, and was wondering if one of us could return to assist her in her duties." The mention of Ororo Munroe immediately ceased any further protests.

"Which one of those runts is givin Ro trouble?" Logan asked with both concern and menace in his low grumble, fully turning his back to the man he had so recently been intent on disemboweling.

"She didn't mention any particular children, only that she required assistance. I informed her that I would choose between Scott and you. Your attack on Mr. Lebeau only fortified the decision I was already going to make." Logan contemplated the information for several mute seconds before responding.

"Fair enough, Chuck, but who're you gonna get home once Rogue's better? I don't exactly think Cyke can fly."

"Piotr will be returning with the van."

"Fine, but I want Gumbo comin home too." Remy's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at this request.

"No way is Remy comin home wit you! You gonna tear me ti shreds and dump me in de woods somewhere."

"Thought you were innocent, Cajun. If you didn't do nothin, then you got nothin to fear from me." Logan tossed over his shoulder with a hoarse tone and jack-o-lantern grin that contradicted every word.

"Logan,if I grant such a request, do I have your word that Mr. Lebeau will remain unharmed?" Logan merely grunted out an agreement and grabbed a piece of Remy's trenchcoat, draggin him behind as he stomped out of the room.

"Prof, you can't leave me wit dis madman. I ain't gonna survive!"

"Relax, Gumbo. We're just gonna have a nice conversation during this little trip." Remy's continued protests could be heard down the entire length of the hall, the normally suave and composed Cajun now fearing for his life. Once the two could no longer be heard, Hank turned to Xavier as Scott continued to stare at Rogue's lifeless form.

"Are you positive that leaving Mr. Lebeau with Logan in an automotive was an altogether...wise decision, Professor? Logan appeared much more tempestuous than usual."

"Logan will not harm Remy in any way, Hank. Despite any paternal instincts Logan feels toward Rogue, I believe that his feelings towards Ororo are currently primary."

"So Ms. Munroe didn't really contact you?" Scott asked, finally breaking his long silence.

"Scott, I would hope that you would expect out of your elders than outright lies." Xavier admonished, however the urbane Brit still allowed himself a small smirk.

* * *

Two floors above the altercation between Logan and Remy, House leaned on his cane, 

standing next to the white board he and his team knew so well.

"Ok, of all of our patient's very crtitical symptoms, we've managed to solve her problem of how to get busy in the backseat of her boyfriend's car. Important, yes, but I doubt she's going to care that much about make-out point if she's dead."

"If it's not a tumor, the next best candidate is probably some sort of vitamin deficiency."Foreman stated sagely, slouched over his coffee, the late hours obviously affecting him despite his best efforts not to show it.

"Lead poisoning is a much more likely candidate." Cameron declared, directing her response more towards Foreman than House.

"Whatever it is, if it's not in the brain, it's in the blood. Cameron, get another MRI, just to definitively rule out any lingering brain infection. When that comes back negative, test her blood for porphyria, hepatolenticular degeneration, and thiamine deficiancy. And grab McCoy when you take the blood. He probably loves fiddling with those lab machines. He'll be in heaven.. Foreman, you're on call until when?" Foreman glanced up from the brown liquid slowly cooling in his black ceramic mug, already knowing what his boss was going to request of him, simply dreading hearing the words. Slowly, he let his answer pass his lips.

"Eight o' clock."

"Good. At nine, go do what your people do best." House's smirk seemed to defy Dr. Foreman, taunting him to say something. Instead, he just made a small nod of agreement and took a large gulp of his coffee. Then, a realization hit him in mid-swallow, almost causing him to spray hot coffee over the table in front if him.

"Wait a minute. Our patient lives in Bayville. That's over four hours away! With rush-hour traffic, probably five at least."

"Bring something good to listen to."

* * *

Remy felt like collapsing right onto the well-trod carpet of the front foyer of Xavier's mansion. Even with several cups of gas station coffee coursing through his veins, his body's need to sleep was at the forefront of his dimming consciousness, the caffeine doing nothing to alleviate his tired eyes. Despite what he had feared in the hospital, Logan had not used the term _conversation_ as some sort of euphemism for one-sided fight; the older man had genuinely conversed with the teenager. However, of Logan's many unique talents, the gift of gab was not one of them, so Remy had spent the entire trip back to the institute hearing, in graphic detail, what the Canadian was going to do to him if he ever hurt Rogue. Remy was also assured several times that only reason Logan's fantasy was still just that was due solely to the Professor. Remy didn't need to be told the Professor deserved a large thank you once Rogue was safely back at the institute. 

Rogue. Logan's parental doting over her only served to remind Remy of the huge hurdle he would have to bestride once Rogue was better. Remy leaned against the wall below the grand staircase, promising himself to only rest his eyes for a second. The next thing he felt was a powerful hand smash down on his shoulder, jerking him out his short rest so violently he thought his heart might stop.

"Quit dozin, Gumbo. You got a date with the Danger Room." Remy rubbed his eyes in an attempt to remove the sleep that crowded them.

"Ya know, not everybody round here got de same healin factor you got, _mon ami._" Logan made no attempt to respond beyond chuckling under his breath and smacking Remy on the back, pointing with his other hand in the direction of the Danger Room. Remy let a yawn die a slow death in his throat as he shuffled toward the showers and locker room. _T'ink Lebeau. You gone up aginst worse dan dis an come out lookin like a million bucks. You gotta get back ti dat hospital._

_

* * *

_

Doctor Robert Chase pushed open the door to the clinic portion of the hospital, preparing himself for a full eight hours in the clinic. After storming out of House's office after the unexpected arrival of Dr. McCoy. Chase had been incredulous at the behavior of his boss. Dr. House, the man who had made torturing the nursing staff into it's own sport, was not only treating a mutant but working with one. Chase had been wrapping his brain around that conundrum the entire time he had spent in the clinic the day previous. He walked up to the nurse on duty, choosing simple pharyngitis cases over the more complicated cases offered by his boss.

"Hello, Dr. Chase checking in." The nurse, who was one he hadn't seen before, ceased her typing and looked up, peering over her rimless glasses

"Dr... Chase, did you say? You have a patient in exam room one. He asked for you specifically." This didn't catch Chase completely by surprise. He had long prided himself on having an excellent bedside manner, and being able to connect with the majority of the patients he treated. In Chase's eyes, it was the thing that put him above the level of the other doctors. He put on his best "humble" voice before responding to the nurse.

"Requested me personally? Did they say what was wrong?"

"No, but he seemed to be favoring one leg. He said you would know exactly what to do." She was definitely new; any other nurse would have simply repeated the number of the exam room and focused her attention back to the computer screen in front of her. Chase, however, was feeling eight miles high after hearing about this patient. In a last ditch effort to keep his ego intact, Chase bid goodbye to the nurse and strutted off to exam room one, ready to heal his latest patient. When he pushed open the door, however, he received quite a surprise.

"My leg hurts doctor. I just don't know what to do." House stated in a crushingly sarcastic tone, not even bothering to look up from the cheap gossip magazine he was reading while using the examination table as a makeshift recliner.

""So take some Vicoden. What are you up to, 120 milligrams?" Chase 's gaze was cold, his voice bitter with cold ire.

"I'm staying strong at eighty, thank you very much. Now get in here and close the door. "

"What do you want, Dr. House?"

"Right now? For you to close the door." Chase made an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes, but still complied with House's request.

"You're wanted in the lab. Cameron and Dr. McCoy are already there, running blood tests." House stated flatly, his attention returned fully on the magazine grasped in his hands. "Hey, what's your opinion on Suri?"

"I don't care about Suri, and I don't care about any mutie's blood." Chase made a move toward the door, but what came out of House's mouth next stopped him dead in his tracks.

"You care about paying your rent?" It was meant to sound tossed off, like an afterthought, but both men in the room knew that it was anything but. Chase slowly turned back to face his boos, who let his eyes linger on the page he was reading for several seconds before making eye contact with the young intensevist. "What about food? You care about eating?"

"Excuse me?"

"Food. You eat it. You may have heard of it. " House hopped off the table and limped over to Chase, standing only five inches taller than the blonde Australian but towering over him as though he were a lowly field mouse.

"What-what exactly are you insinuating?" Chase demanded, his temper rising rapidly.

"It's called an ultimatum. You can either do your job, or you can start looking for another one. His voice carried none of the misanthropic sarcasm that was usually present, instead holding the same flat, serious tone that his normally expressive blue eyes possesed.

"Are-are-are you-" Still not completely believing the cold words his boss was speaking, Chase attempted to spit out a response, but House cut him off before he had the chance to get his thoughts organized.

"Look, I don't know where the bad mutant touched you, I don't really care, just get your skinny British ass up to the lab before I fire you for drinking on the job." House threw open the door to the exam room and limped out with a noticeable speed, not wishing to spend one more minute in the clinic than was necessary. Chase made no attempt to follow, merely yelling one last question once realization hit him.

"Wait! Drinking on the job?" Chase jogged out to confront Dr. House once more, but all he could see was House's retreating form.

"Everybody lies." Then House was gone, some mystery destination that lay far beyond the walls of the clinic. Chase stood there, staring at the doors of the clinic, his fists clenched white in wrath. Had any other doctor, any other person, suggested terminating Chase's employment on such fictitious charges as drinking on the job, Chase would have dismissed the idea without second thought. He would have considered the threat either black humor or completely hollow, with no probability of a follow through. House was the exception, however. Chase knew that his boss was the one person so stubborn and so insane that he would not only fire the young Australian, but would probably get a laugh from doing it. Chase had to exert very little effort to conjure up a mental image of House chuckling maniacally while ruining the career Chase had toiled so hard to attain with one fell swoop. Taking a deep breath, Chase quietly informed the nurse that he had to leave the clinic due to an urgent case, then walked from the clinic to the first floor elevators concentrating solely on keeping his growing rage in check, wishing to do nothing more than lay one good punch at the end of his boss' nose. Had Chase been concentrating more on his surroundings and less on his own introspection, the young doctor might have noticed the person standing off to the side of the lobby across from the clinic. The person who was the source of most of Chase's ire, leaning on his cane, his face a mask of pure smugness at getting his way through sheer stubborn will.

* * *

"Stormy, need ti talk ti ya fo a secon." 

"I will listen, child, but only so long as you refrain from referring to me by that silly nickname."

* * *

Foreman sped down the seldom traveled road that led to Xavier's mansion, one of his many Miles Davis albums wafting from the sound system of his car. He choked back yet another yawn, the fast food coffee and doughnuts not working nearly hard enough to keep sleep at bay for the exhausted neurologist. What had kept him going was his overactive brain, trained to operate on even the most minute traces of sleep from years of studying for tests in Hopkins. At the moment, his highly productive brain was busy kicking itself, comparable to every other break in Foreman had performed under the eye of his peculiar boss. 

_I go to court, find a judge who's got enough damn heart to not throw me in jail until the rapture, do my community service, swear I'm going to turn over a new leaf, and then what? I get hired solely because of some perverted voyeuristic fantasy perpetrated by my boss!_

Foreman would have continued to angrirly muse on the particulars of his hiring unceasingly had it not been for the red and white convertible that roared around the curve like a bat out of hell, nearly knocking Foreman off the road and frightening any lingering sleep out of his body. Foreman pulled off to the side of the road and attempted to gain the license plate number of the careless speeder, but the sports car was already out of sight, gone in a cloud of tire rubber and dust. The young doctor merely let out an annoyed breath and let his head sink a little on his shoulders.

_Perfect beginning to my day, _he mused bitterly.

Roughly one half-hour after the incident with the speed demon, Foreman arrived at Xavier's institute. To be more specific, he arrived at the high gate that surrounded the mansion and it's exapansive grounds, the barricade standing tall and erect like castle walls.

The reluctant burglar ran his hand over his short hair as he paced back and forth in front of his car, several feet from the golden colored gate.

"How exactly does he expect me to get in here?"

**_Ring the doorbell._** **_They're expecting you._** Hearing the calm voice, Foreman immediately stopped in his tracks. He hadn't seen anyone standing around, but that didn't mean anything.

"Hello? Is someone there?" Foreman asked hesitantly, not sure what he would do if anyone answered.

**_I'm Professor Charles Xavier, the owner of this mansion. I'm speaking with you telepathically. _**This statement sent Foreman for a loop. He was fairly positive he wasn't crazy, and he had heard Dr. McCoy mention briefly that Xavier was a telepath. Still, there was another person in his own head, a thought Eric had never even considered in jest.

"You're in my head?" Then he probably-

**_Yes, and I know why you are here. There is a small panel to the right of the entrance. Ms. Munroe will open the gate._**

"Wait, you know why I'm here, and you have no problem with it? And how did you know I was coming here?" Formena realized how bizarre it must look for anyone watching, but at that moment it was the least of his worries.

**_Ms. Munroe informed me when your car appeared on our security systems. I reached out, using my powers, only to ascertain that you were not a threat to my students._** **_We have to be cautious, especially considering the strong anti-mutant sentiment that permeates all walks of life. As for your purpose_****_for coming to the institute, while I find your boss' method most unorthodox, I can clearly see that you only mean well. I have no issue with your inspection._** With that, Foreman could feel the calm voice in his head dissipate, leaving him staring at the small metal panel that lay, as Xavier had said, to the right of the gate. Foreman shrugged his shoulders and approached it, pressing a small button that came into view as he got closer. Pressing it, he heard a feminine voice eminate from the small speaker, surprisingly clear for an intercom system.

"Good morning, Xavier institute." The voice sounded like regal British, but there was another accent at work as well, blending well.

"Umm...Hi, I'm Dr. Eric Foreman, from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital I-" Eric was cut off by the woman, which was fine with him, as he had no idea what he would have said next.

"Ah, you must be here to inspect Rogue's room. I will meet you at the front steps." The intercom clicked off, and a still dumbfounded Foreman slowly walked back to his car and started the engine, letting the car crawl forward through the now open gate. He rounded the car around the tall fountain that lay in the middle of the long driveway similar to a rotary and parked in front of the low front steps where a platinum haired African woman already stood in waiting.

"Good morning and welcome to our home. My name is Ororo Munroe. Charles told me to expect you." Foreman reached out and shook her hand, still apprehensive about the entire situation. Ororo seemed to sense this, and calmly led him inside, where Foreman stood in slight awe at the size of the place.

"Follow me, Rogue's room is on the third floor. If I may ask, what do you expect to find here?"

"More than likely, nothing. However, my boss believes that everybody lies." Foreman had never been greeted by the owner _before_ breaking in to the house, but there was a first time for everything, and as first times go, Foreman preferred the gentle, maternalistic African woman to an angry man with a shotgun.

"He distrusts people so much he would break into their homes?"

"He's...different." Foreman said finally after several minutes. Ororo merely shook her head as Logan approached them both quickly, impedeing their climb up the grand steps.

"Hey, Ro, you seen Gumbo around here?"

"Sorry, Logan. Perhaps he is in garage, working on his motorcycle." Ororo clearly did not hold the same nervous fear of the muscular man that Foreman did.

"Hmmm, he probably would think he could hide from me down there. Hey, what are you doin here? You get bored with treatin Stripes or something?" Logan pointed an accusatory finger at the doctor.

"Dr. Foreman is here inspecting Rogue's room."

"What're you inspecting for?" Taking a deep breath, Foreman spoke, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

"Anything. Many times, the cause of a disease is something environmental. If that's the case here, we'll be able to heal her." If the answer pleased Logan, he didn't show it.

"Fine, Ro'll show ya Rogue's room. I've gotta go find Gumbo. He's gotta a date with the Danger Room. With that, Logan stalked off down the stairs in the direction of the garage as Ororo merely led Foreman in the opposite direction.

"Gumbo?"

"Merely one of Logan's pet names for one of our students. Come, Rogue's room is on the

next floor."

The room was a clear-cut study in contradictions. One half of the room was decorated in bright colors, pinks and purples, as though a rainbow had taken up sewing as a hobby. Lain on the bright pink pillow lay a stuffed purple dragon. It was clear to anyone that this half was the den of a sixteen year old girl, from the posters of Mandy Moore and The O.C. to the numerous Harry Potter books stacked on the dresser. The other half of the room, seemed to be, in contrast, that of not a teenager but Sylvia Plath or Pauline Reage. Anything that wasn't black was some sort of dark color, usually a deep green or blood red. There were no stuffed animals on this side of the room, only several highly graphic action figures in a row that were labeled "The Infernal Parade." Foreman thought that was all too appropriate in describing them.

"The right side of the room belongs to Rogue, the other side of the room belongs to her roommate, Katherine Pryde."

"Thank you. Has her roommate been showing any similar symptoms?"

"I don't believe so. She should be around here. If I should find her, I will ask her." Foreman began dutifully examing Rogue's side of the room as Storm looked on in quiet observance.

"What about eating? Do you serve everyone the same thing, or do the students cook whatever they want?"

"We eat together in the main dining hall. Cooking duties rotate throughout the week between several students, however I believe that Rogue and Kitty purchased a small refrigerator several months ago." Foreman noticed the small machine as soon as Ororo mentioned it. The one thing in the whole room that seemed to bridge the gap between the polar personalities that inhabited the room. Foreman opened it eagerly, but found nothing contained within but diet sodas and a few frozen dinners. Foreman stared at the harmless edibles and grimaced, shutting the door as quickly as he had opened it.

* * *

"So what did you find in the mansion?" Cameron questioned of Dr. Foreman. Having spent the majority of the day in the lab talking with Henry, Cameron had been eager to hear about the mysterious headquarters of the teenagers. The three, plus Dr. Chase, who spent the time buried in a book, periodically shooting belligerent looks toward Dr. McCoy, sat in the conference room awaiting the arrival of Dr. House so that the latest in Rogue's condition could be examined. 

"Other than a room that looked like it had multiple personality disorder, nothing much. Certainly nothing that would explain her condition." Foreman looked back down at the glowing screen of his laptop, spell checking his report before sending it to the printer.

"Yes, at first glance one would assume that Rogue and Kitty would be bitter enemies. However, they are now nearly inseparable friends, despite their obvious differences." Hank adjusted the glasses perched on the end of his nose.

"Well, great as that is, it doesn't help us diagnose her." Foreman trudged over to the printer opposite him and snatched the printed sheets. As Henry was about to respond, House came strutting into the room, the un shaven frown on his face a clear tell that, other than his encounter with Dr. Chase early that morning, he had not found the clinic enjoyable in any way. Once he noticed Chase, however, his eyes brightened.

"Dr. Chase, glad to see you could stay out of the bottle long enough to join our diagnosis." House's comment elicited nothing more than an agitated eye roll from the blonde doctor House snatched Foreman's report with a muttered "gimmie" and began to pour his eyes over the printed words. After reading over the same word several times, House quirked an eyebrow and let the paper fall to his side.

"Dr. Cameron, what did the blood tests show?" Cameron's eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly.

"Nothing. No viruses, no infections, no poisons. The only thing out of all the tests that came back abnormal was a slight increase in her phenylalanine." At hearing this, House limped over to the desk in the corner of the room and snatched up Rogue's admittance file. He grimaced for a moment, then called out to Dr. McCoy.

"Dr. McCoy, how long's the patient been underweight?"

* * *

A/N: Another wondrous chapter complete. I wanted this one completed a couple days ago, but then I suddenly got slammed with three different things that I didn't expect, nor did I need. However, I got the chapter completed, and I suppose that's all that matters. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter up by Friday. To everyone that's read and reviewed so far, You have my deepest thanks. And to those of you who aren't reviewing-what's stopping you? 


	5. Chapter 5

"Piotr, thank you for driving out here. I trust you had no trouble finding the hospital." Down in the parking garage of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Xavier questioned the tall Russian man standing in front of the black van purchased for use by the institute. Even without the extra height Piotr's mutant capabilities provided him whenever they were active, he towered over the great van by several noticeable inches. The early afternoon sun filtered through the wide spaces between the floors, glinting off the imperfections in the dull grey concrete.

"None at all, Professor Xavier. The instructions vere very clear." Both the thick accent and correct grammar were immediate tells that the muscular man had not been in the States for any extended period of time. "How is Rogue's condition?"

"I'm afraid that the prognosis is not looking good. The doctors removed a tumor from Rogue's brain, however, her condition has not improved." This news caused Piotr's head to fall, his eyes affixing on the grimy concrete below his feet.

"I am sorry to hear zhat, Professor Xavier." Despite the Russian man's immense height and intimidating size, he was polite and soft-spoken, almost to a fault.

"As I am sorry to have to tell you such news. Nevertheless, Henry assures me that Dr. House and he are very close to discovering what is amiss."

"I hope it is nothing incurable. I did some research on brain disease in your absence." Piotr stated quietly as he slowly brought his head up to regain eye contact with the Professor.

"I hope the same thing. Come, I'll show you to her room. You as well, Katherine." As Xavier turned his wheelchair away from the parked van, Piotr's face showed complete confusion until he saw the petite brunette phase herself out of the van, moving through the glass and steel automotive as though it did not even exist.

"I don't why I, like, thought I could hide from a telepath." Katherine questioned, obviously disgusted with herself.

"Katya? Vhen did you get in the van?" Piotr's voice held nothing but concern for the comparably minute girl.

"When you were talking with Ms. Munroe, you know, getting directions here. Everyone's, like, really concerned about Rogue. Kurt was supposed to come too, but he, like, never showed up." She clasped her hands behind her back and rubbed the filthy ground below her with the tow of her right shoe, refusing to make eye contact with either Piotr or Charles.

"It's alright, Katherine," said Xavier, turning his wheelchair around to face the two students. "While I cannot say that I approve of this, I fully understand that you acted solely out of concern for your friend." As Xavier again turned his wheelchair and began to guide himself toward the hospital, Kitty immediately perked up as she lightly jogged to keep up with Piotr's stride.

"So, like, I'm not in trouble?"

"I never said that, Katherine. However, I believe the necessary punishment must take a backseat to our current crisis." Kitty's face immediately fell, her blue eyes dulling and her shoulders slumping at the thought of her potential punishment. As Xavier moved ahead, Piotr turned to Kitty.

"Katya, vhy didn't you say anything during ze trip?" The young girl blushed slightly at the question.

"Like, I was going to, but then you put on that book on tape. I got sucked into the plot, and before I knew it, we were here." Katherine admitted sheepishly, making it a point not to

connect her own blue eyes with Piotr's.

"_Anna Karenina_ has always been vone of my favorite books." The statuesque Russian smiled toward the young brunette. At this point, Kitty was blushing so hard she looked like she had been boiled, and Piotr's cheeks were quickly flushing as well.

* * *

The elevator door slid into the wall, the faux wood grain disappearing between a sleeve of rigid steel and wires. Xavier wheeled out onto the floor with Colossus and Shadowcat trailing behind him, engaged in an animated discussion about the major plot points of _Anna Karenina._ As the Professor entered the hospital room where Rogue lay, still under heavy medical sedation, Scott stood up to greet the Professor, the young man's twin roles of teenager and team leader blurring and blending until the borders could no longer be seen. When Scott saw Kitty enter with Piotr, however, he did a double-take that was mostly hidden behind his ruby quartz glasses.

"Kitty? What are you doing here?" The teenage leader questioned, walking towards the three.

"Like, I'm here to see Rogue. I thought that would be, like, obvious." Kitty said with an annoyed noise, rushing over to Rogue's side.

"It's alright, Scott. I have already had a discussion with Katherine, and she knows that there is another discussion awaiting her once we return to the mansion." This calmed Scott down immediately, as he sunk back down in the hard plastic of the hospital-issue chair.

"Vhat did ze doctors have to say about Rogue's condition?" Piotr was genuinely concerned about Rogue, however the sight of the younger girl in a hospital still hit slightly too close to home for him. As such, he stayed near the door of the room.

"Not much in the way of good news, Piotr. She had a brain tumor removed, but, other than fixing her powers..." Scott trailed off as he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous he had possessed for as long as anyone could remember. Of the numerous new additions to Xavier's institute over the years, and of the former adversaries in particular, Piotr was one of the few with which Scott had formed any semblance of a congenial relationship. It had not come easily, as the eighteen year old had been initially suspicious of the former Acolytes from the minute they appeared on doorstep of the mansion, out of both jobs and homes. Despite specific instruction from both Charles and Ororo to the contrary, Scott had kept an ever-vigilant eye on the towering Russian, assuming the constant reading and taciturn nature were simply the man's way of bidding his time before an attack. However, after overhearing a conversation between the Professor and Logan concerning Piotr's younger sister Illyana, Scott had drastically rethought his mental profile on the man. The teenager started giving Piotr missions that required more than simple brute force and Danger Room sessions that required actual thought as opposed to breaking through walls repeatedly. Scott had even offered help with learning English, an offer the Russian gladly accepted.

"Have zhey tested for hepatolenticular degeneration? I read that has some of zhe same symptoms." Piotr received blank looks from both Kitty and Scott, the question going over both their heads. Only Charles made an attempt to respond.

"I believe your question is more suited for Dr. McCoy than any of us. He has had more contact with Rogue's doctors that either Scott or I have." Piotr merely nodded in understanding.

"Hepa-what, Piotr?" Kitty questioned. Katherine possessed an intelligence that belied her

slight valley-girl accent and strong preference for the precocious and seraphic. Still, the obscure disease so recently mentioned baffled her, and few could blame the girl, as very few sixteen year olds had a working knowledge of rare bodily disorders.

"Yea, I'm not sure I caught that one, big guy." Scott admitted, embarrassment tinging his voice.

"It is a rare disease zhat affects a person's brain. It is hereditary and sometimes causes brain damage." Kitty and Scott still wore countenances of confusion, however Professor Xavier gave a proud smirk and folded his hands in his lap.

"You weren't kidding about your research, Piotr. I daresay that Dr. McCoy would be proud of the medical knowledge you just demonstrated." As Piotr smiled at this compliment, Xavier noticed the analog clock outside in the hallway and sighed. "One o'clock...I hope you three do not mind if I leave you alone for a while. I feel I must have some lunch down in the cafeteria. You are all welcome to join if you wish."

"I think I will, Professor,"said Scott, standing up. "I kinda need to stretch my legs anyway."

"Certainly , Mr. Summers," replied Xavier genially. As the Professor wheeled out of the hospital room with Scott in tow, hands jammed into the pockets of his khakis, Kitty turned away from her sedated friend to face the tall man standing behind her.

"So, like, do you have any other books by that Tolstoy guy? Because I'd love to, like, borrow one sometime. You know, if it's ok with you."

"Da, I have many by Lev Tostoy. He vas a great writer." Piotr always felt highly nervous talking with the petite brunette, a specific irony given his mutation and build that did not escape his attention. However, the specific focus of their conversation helped ease his apprehension. "I zhink you vould like _The Kingdom of God is Vithin You._ It was von of his non-fiction essays, but it is still very good."

"That's great. I'll, like, trust your judgement on this one, Piotr." Kitty smiled.

* * *

Kitty held her chin in her hand, dejected over the uneasy silence that had descended over the room like a thick fog around a moor. Piotr had clammed up once the conversation involving Russian literature had dried up. Even though his sister's condition had improved dramatically and he had visited her twice since joining the institute, hospital still caused the Russian profound anxiety. Kitty couldn't exactly hold any grudge against the man; he had every reason to hate hospitals. Still, as she blew a loose chestnut-brown bang out of her eye for what felt like the thousandth time, she did somewhat wish that the man could be a little more talkative. Given her current mood, Kitty practically jumped out her chair, expecting to see Scott and the professor. The actual visitor was not who she expected to see, however.

"How's Rogue doin? Dey still got her asleep?" Kitty sprung up in shock, while Piotr merely sat with his hands clasped in his lap, having noticed Remy as soon as he exited the elevator.

"Remy, like, what are you doing here? The professor said he sent you home with Logan."

"Dat big badger cin accuse Remy all he wants. Remy ain't poison no one and he gonna stay right by Rogue's side, where he belongs." Remy clasped the plastic edge of Rogue's bed

and stared intently at Rogue's alabaster face.

"My friend, do you zhink it is wise to incur Logan's wrath?"

"Somehow, mon ami, a short, hairy homme ain't exactly de first ting Remy's concerned about." Remy responded as Kitty's eyes darted between the two for several seconds before she spoke, her small voice filled with an almost reverential awe.

"Oh my god...you really love Rogue, don't you?" Kitty's eyes shone and she held her hands directly under her chin, a high-pitched squeal already loaded at the edge of her tongue like a pistol, cocked and ready to fire. Kitty Pryde was by no means a dumb girl; she was in fact a very intelligent woman once one scratched her surface. However, her childhood dreams of Prince Charmings and magical castles had carried over past puberty, and as such she carried a devotion to romance that showed no signs of fading.

"Dat's a pretty big word you throwin around. What makes you say that, Petite?"

"Like, you've either got to be incredibly in love or incredibly stupid to go and piss off Logan."

"Remy been accused a bein' de latter a lot o' times," Remy sighed. "But Remy's gotta soft spot fo de fille, and he wants ti be right by her side when she wakes up. Remy's gonna be the first thing she sees." The squeal that had held itself for so long finally fired itself, a vocal bullet with no intended target.

"That is so romantic! Oh my god, that is the most romantic thing ever! You like, have to tell Rogue that!" Remy was still adjusting to the slightly hyperactive nature of the young girl, and as such was unsure of how to react to her outburst. Of his limited options, he chose a diplomatic approach, letting thieves' charm ooze into his voice.

"Dere's a lot Remy's got to say to Rogue. Don't know what order it's all gonna come out, But Remy been doing a lot o thinkin in de past few weeks." The sound of a sliding door drew the attention of all three from Rogue. The professor was the first to enter the room, seeing Remy but saying nothing, choosing instead to mentally prepare himself for the verbal battle he knew was mere seconds away.

"Gambit! What are you doing back here?" The use of a codename instead of a birth name was not missed by anyone. Remy, however, let his gaze fall back to Rogue's still form and stay there.

"Troi months and you still don't know Remy's name. You offend him greatly." He chuckled, to which Scott just responded with an aggravated sigh.

"We sent you back to the institute for a reason. How did you get back here?"

"Remy drove. By de way, you should take dat convertable o yours ti a mechanic. De clutch was doin a lot o stickin."

"You took my car? Who gave you permission to do that?"

"Remy took it upon himself ti liberate dat nice lookin car o yours. De only other choice was Wolvie's motorcycle, which ain't much o an option." Remy was still refusing to look at Scott, but it was clear he was getting a great kick out of pushing Scott's buttons.

"I'm assuming there's a damn good reason you didn't take your own motorcycle."

"She's due for a new paint job. Remy can't have his baby goin out if she don't look her best."

"This is why we sent you back in the first place! We-" Within the blink of an eye, Remy had spun around to stare Scott directly in the eye, halting the leader's admonishment.

"What if it was your belle petite rouse layin in dat bed?" The tone was harsh and quick,

the usual smug and jovial manner dried up in a flash. When Scott made no response, Remy continued, intent on giving Scott hell. "What would you do if your Jean was layin in dat bed wit no sign o wakin up? I know fo a fact dat you'd be by her side and you wouldn't be movin til she was runnin a marathon. Well, dat's exactly what I plan on doin, and I don't care what you, Wolvie o anyone else gotta say about it." At this, Remy yanked Scott by his polo shirt and brought him a hair's-breadth from his face, a scowl painting his features as he hissed out the last bit of his fiery monologue. "So why don't you drag your ass down ti de garage and polish your car o somethin. Just make sure it's well out o de way o me."

"Remy, let him go now." The Professor stepped in, strongly displeased with seeing two of his students near fisticuffs, especially two that he expected to serve as role models for the younger students. With an annoyed glance toward his newfound mentor, Remy let go of Scott's shirt, making sure to do it with enough force to send the leader back several feet. Scott gained his footing quickly, however, and wasted no time drawing attention to Remy's behavior.

"This is nothing more than further proof you're not cut out for the team, Gambit!"

"Summers, take dat team of yours and-"

Both of you, stop this now!" Charles' voice rang through the room, the sudden outburst of the normally patient man shocking everyone, and immediately ceasing the bickering of the two students. After the blanket of silence had fallen over the room, Charles spoke, this time in his usual dulcet cadence.

"Your petty arguments are doing nothing to redeem yourselves in the eye of the public. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you, all of you, that you are representatives of not only the institute, but of the entire mutant population. I would suggest you bury whatever hatchet may lie between you and be on your best behavior." Xavier's look of disapproval did little to shake the increasing blood feud between the two teenagers, however whatever was going to be said between them had been forgotten.

"Look, I'm going outside for some fresh air." Scott said with a violent sweep of his arm, stomping out the door before he blew up at Remy, who merely muttered something under his breath and turned back to Rogue's lifeless form.

"Um, guys?" Kitty stammered nervously, "What's wrong with Rogue's arm?" Everyone in the room turned their attention to the offending appendage, which had started twitching and jerking nervously, as though some invisible electrical cord was sending a massive electrical current directly through the muscle.

* * *

"Dr. McCoy, how long has the patient been underweight?" The question was outwardly simple, yet it's unexpected nature left Henry grappling for words for several seconds.

"Well, Rogue has never had a particularly voracious appetite. Plus, she is an ardent athlete, often spending several hours at a time inside the gymnasium. To be altogether honest, I have never thought about Rogue's weight all that much. Do you believe that this is another symptom of her condition?"

"No, I just make it a point to concern myself with the weight of sixteen year-old girls. Her weight was 120 six months ago; now she's barely hitting ninety." Cameron opened her mouth to say something, however the simultaneous beeping of three pagers distracted her from saying what would have most likely been drowned out anyway.

"There's been another call. Something's happened." The three doctors rushed out the room, Chase lagging noticeably behind Foreman and Cameron. As Henry rose from his chair, he

was surprised to see Dr. House heading toward the same direction as his diagnostic team.

"Dr. House, where are you heading?"

"Why, to visit the patient." His face suddenly took on mock concern as the two doctors

made their way towards the elevator that lay within close proximity of the office "Honestly, what kind of heartless doctor wouldn't visit their own patient?" Dr. McCoy merely raised one blue eyebrow above his black-rimmed glasses as House limped ahead of him.

"You've already completed the puzzle, haven't you?"

* * *

"Her arm just, like, started doing that. Is Rogue going to be ok?" Kitty's eyes pleaded for the health of her friend. Foreman, Cameron and Chase were standing around Rogue's bed, focused on the ever-twitching arm before them. Rogue was still under sedation, oblivious to the world around her.

"Is Rogue havin another one o her seizures?" Remy was trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably, the worry vocal.

"This isn't a seizure. This is...something else." Foreman stated, just as perplexed as everyone else in the room

"Could it be an absent seizure?" Cameron questioned.

"Her arm isn't likely to twitch during an absent seizure." Chase answered, clearly displeased at his current location, eyes constantly darting about and his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his khakis.

"This could be radiation poisoning. Remember that kid we had in here a few months ago?"

"It's not radiation poisoning." House stood in the doorway like a medical Samuel Spade, his countenance displaying a rare bout of earnestness. He spoke as again as he swaggered into the room toward the foot of Rogue's bed, Dr. McCoy following behind, as eager as everyone else to discover Rogue's mysterious affliction. "Ok, our symptoms are frequent seizures, Aphasia, uncontrollable rage, an uncontrollable mutation, and the blood temperature of your average box turtle. We find a brain tumor which solves exactly one of those symptoms, leaving us with four symptoms that don't add up to anything. However, the only reason they didn't add up is because we didn't have all the symptoms. So, how long has she been drinking diet soda?" He scanned the room, standing at the foot of his patient's bed like a preacher at his pulpit, primed to preach his sermon to the congregation. "Simple question, folks. Will probably save her life," He queried in an exaggerated tone as he turned to face Professor Xavier. "Come on, wheels. We cripples gotta stick together." The Professor quirked an annoyed eyebrow, however Kitty interrupted him before he had a chance to speak.

"I started buying it about four months. I told Rogue it was better for you than the regular stuff." Her eyes were planted firmly on the floor, her assumed guilt already weighing her down. Cameron looked at the girl, her heart all primed and ready to dispense comfort.

"Which usually is the case, however I'm willing to bet that you've never payed attention to the warning on the side of the cans. The warning that states that most diet sodas contain high levels of phenylalanine."

"She doesn't have phenylketonuria. She had a Guthrie heel prick test. It's in her file." She stared daggers at her boss, angered at his tone towards the younger girl.

"No, she doesn't have it. You're completely right. However, as an immunologist, you should be aware that there is more than one disease that causes a massive level pf phenylalanine to build up in the blood system." He turned to face Cameron, initiating a staring contest of the wills. However, the realization hit Dr. McCoy before it hit Dr. Cameron.

"Of course, the answer was right in front of us! I feel positively embarrassed for not seeing it sooner."

"See? At least someone in this room can see what's staring them right in the face. For the rest of you, The missing symptoms were a severely low muscle tone and," He pointed the handle of his cane at the still twitching arm. "movement disorders. Who's got it now?" Foreman was the first to speak.

"You're looking for a confirmation of tetrahydrobiopterin deficiency? But there have been less than five hundred cases reported ever."

"Four hundred and fifty to be exact. The girl here makes four fifty-one. Get a urine test. When her Bh4 levels come back extremely low, get her on 20mg Bh4 supplements and a replacement thearapy with neurotransmitter precausers." House limped out the door with a proud look on his face. Only Cameron followed.

"Was that completely necessary?"

"Solving the case? Making sure she didn't die? I thought it was necessary, but I'm just crazy like that." He punched the button of the elevator, anxious to be away from the inordinately caring nature of his employee.

"I meant the way you treated her friend _and_ your patient. I mean, berating her while she watches her friend dying in a hospital bed? That was completely uncalled for." Cameron folded her arms and glared at her peculiar boss. When House came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to leave without some sort of response, he said a silent curse to the aggravating lack of speed that the PPTH elevators possessed and turned to face the young doctor.

"So go in there and hug her and tell her everything's going to be alright," House said in the most patronizing tone he was able to muster before refocusing his attention on the digital numbers above the elevator. "And after you've done that, why don't you just go ahead and get the patent on the medications that _will _make everything alright. Just a suggestion." Cameron threw her hands down at her side, frustrated with the ongoing stubbornness of her boss. As House stepped on the now open elevator, he yelled one last demand toward the fast-retreating form of Dr. Allison Cameron. "And tell Chase I want to see him in my office."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Dr. House?" Chase pushed though the plastic blinds that stretched from floor to ceiling and stepped into the darkened office of Dr. House, a bottle of Maker's Mark already being emptied into the stomach of his boss, the cap discarded to some unknown realm and a highball glass half-full with amber liquid. House sat with his feet propped up on this desk, facing away from the door but in such a way that he could still see anyone who attempted to gain entrance.

"I really had to force you to treat this patient. That is a puzzle, to me at least."

"It's not a puzzle. I just don't like mutants." Stated Chase, already irritated with the path this conversation seemed to be taking.

"You don't like fat people either, yet you still treated that girl we had four months ago. Foreman despises homeless people, and yet he ended up fighting the good fight with that woman who had rabies."

"Is there a point to all this? I need to get down to the lab." House finally faced his

employee, turned his chair and, with the aid of his ever-present cane, stood and limped over to the young Australian, an air of smug already enfolding House with its warm embrace.

"You don't like someone, you don't like someone. You don't storm out of my office like a scared kangaroo. I'm thinking that there's something more at work here than just a distaste of mutants." At the mention of this potential revelation by Dr. House, Chase went from irritated to agitated in an instant.

"Leave it alone. This is nothing you need to worry about." Chase made a move for the clear glass door that lay hidden behind the drawn plastic blinds.

"As a matter of fact, there's only one time you've ever stormed out of here before this week."

"Leave it be!"

"That was time that your father arrived, which leads me to believe that, whatever your issue is, that it has something to do with your parents." Chase resisted the near-overpowering urge to throw Dr. House into the nearest wall and instead threw open the door, stomping out with a muttered "bastard' under his breath. House merely smirked at the display and limped back to his leather desk chair, eyeing the square bottle of liquor with a hungry eye.

* * *

"You have Tetrahydrobiopterin deficiency. It's a rare disorder that causes phenylalanine to build up in your bloodstream to dangerous levels." Foreman stood with his hands folded in front of him, a manila file clenched within their grasp. Two days after the medication House prescribed had been administered, Rogue sat Indian-style in her bed, still clad in only a pale blue medical gown.

"So all thaht stuff thaht was goin on...thaht was cause of my blood?" Though she had only been conscious for thirty-six hours, and coherent for only the last twelve of them, the bright gleam had returned to her emerald eyes, despite what her hoarse, distressed voice might say about her emotional state. Remy and Katherine stood as close by her side as the physics of the bed would allow; at any other time Rogue would have despised the two for hovering so close to her, at the moment, however, she was so overjoyed at finally being able to talk their prsence didn't bother her in the slightest.

"Well, to be honest, the diet sodas were partially to blame," Rogue threw an annoyed glance over to Kitty, who just responded with a nervous smile. "However, this disease would have manifested sooner or later, all the sodas did was accelerate the sickness. For future reference, we have a list of foods you'll need to avoid."

"So, like, all Rogue has to do is avoid some foods and she'll be fine?" Kitty questioned.

"Pretty much. We're going to keep you on the Bh4 supplements for a while, just to make sure. Other than that, all you need to do is watch your diet."

"Well, thanks. Ah really don't know what ta say." Rogue lay back onto her pillow, still weakened from her ordeal.

"Well, we should be able to discharge you in a few hours. We're going to run a few more simple tests just for our records, but other than that, you're pretty much good to go. Do you have any other questions?"

"Nah, Ah just..." Rogue trailed off, choosing to exhale an exhausted breath rat5her than finish her thought. Suddenly, she sat up with a start. "Wait...what about mah mutation? Was thaht fixed by tha surgery or..." Rogue trailed off again, not wanting to think about what she considered her greatest curse.

"There is some good news concerning that. The tumor we removed from your brain was pressing down on the part of your brain that controls mutations. With that gone, you should be able to control the mutation no problem." Rogue smiled from ear to ear for the first time in weeks.

"This is great! Ah mean, I can fianlly...Ah don't have cova mahself up anymore!" Rogue looked Foreman dead in the eys. "Thanks. Fohr everything."

"No need to thank me, it's merely part of the job." Stated Foreman, already going into the power trip one felt after saving a life. He made the decision to leave before the dense fog completely filled his brain. "I'll leave you with your friends. Just ring for a nurse if you begin to feel sick or dizzy in any way." Foreman waved a polite goodbye and exited the room, leaving only Kitty, Remy, and Piotr, who was nose deep in a book, to look after Rogue.

"So, like, how do you feel, Rogue? What was it like?"

"It wasn't fun, Kitty, if thahts what you're wonderin"

"Remy's just glad ti see his chere in good spirits again." This comment provoked the first real show of emotion from the southern girl.

"Ah ain't your chere, swamp rat!" Rogue growled at the tall man next to her bed. After taking a breath, Rogue augmented her thought. "Hey, Kitty, do you an Piotr mahnd givin me a few minutes alone?" At hearing this statement, Remy merely grinned from ear to ear, while Kitty showed a bit more forethought, taking into consideration her friend's temper.

"Um, Rogue, I'm not exactly sure I want to leave you alone with Remy..."

"Kitty, Ah ain't gonna hurt him. Ah just need to talk ta him." The petite brunette glanced nervously at Rogue. "Kitty, what am Ah gonna do ta him. We're in a hospital, for god's sakes." This seemed to satisfy Kitty to enough of a degree that she would leave her temperamental friend alone with the flirtatious Cajun.

"Like, alright Rogue, I could go for something to eat, now that I thnk about on, Piotr, I think we can still get breakfast!" Despite the obvious difference in mass, Kitty was able to quickly drag the large Russian out of the room, leaving Remy and Rogue alone.

"So, mah belle chere, what did ya have in mind now dat we alone?" Remy cooed in a low, suggestive voice. Despite her earlier display of anger towards his advances, this time all Rogue did was roll her eyes in response.

"Drop tha act, Remy." Confusion flashed in Remy's ruby irises, but he recovered in a nanosecond.

"What act are ya talkin about, chere? Remy just happy that his femme is gettin outta her sickness." Rogue crossed her arms over chest and pursed her lips, clearly losing what little patience she had with her paramour.

"Remy, Ah heard what ya said ta me. Raght afata mah surgery..." She trailed off after recognizing the spark of realization in Remy's eyes.

"Yi...Yi heard what Remy said dat night?"

"Yeah, Ah did. Look, most a tha tayme Ah fahnd yah overbearing and arrogant, but..." Rogue sighed, not really believing what she was about to say. "Thaht naht, Yah actually showed me thaht there's something more ta yah than thaht macho exterira." Remy's posture had changed dramatically during Rogue's short monologue, going from standing tall with his hands in his pockets to grasping the plastic rail of Rogue's bed, each word drawing him closer.

"So, what's yo answer, Rogue?" The southerner grimaced for a second, as though pondering a deep, introspective question.

"Ah guess Ah can give yah one date. Afta all, yah finalla got rid a thaht dumb-lookin bowl-cut." She reached a thin arm up and shook her hand quickly through Remy's thick brown hair, further disrupting the mess of hair on his head. "But, Ah ain't going anywhere til mah own hair's grown back somewhat."

"Chere, I tink yi look belle no matta how long o short yo hair is."

"Remy, Ah ain't goin anywhere bald. Yah waited this long fahr a date, Ah think yah can wait two more months." Remy frowned for a minute, then grasped one of Rogue's hands and kissed it lightly.

"Remy 'll give yi deux mois, den he takin yi ti de finest restaurant in de state and he ain't gonna listen ti any complaints."

"Ah guess if yah're gonna force meh, Ah ain't got much of a choice." Rogue stated with an eye roll and a smirk.

* * *

A/N: So there it is. The fifth and final chapter in this chapter. Rogue is cured, Remy's got a date, and House is still House. However, before you say anything, I have one more chapter planned. That's right, I'm going to do Rogue and Remy's date as an epilogue to this story. I figure after five chapters of hell, it's the least I can do for the poor girl. I don't kno when I'll be able to get it up; I wouldn't expect to see it before August is out. Sorry, the next few weeks are pretty bad in terms of free time. Nevertheless, it will be posted. Also, while I did take some liberties, Tetrahydrobiopterin deficiency is an actual disease. It's autosomal recessive, which means both your parents have to be carriers of it for you to have it. Finally, I would like to take the chance to send out a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed. The response I've gotten has been absolutely incredible, and was more than I could have ever imagined. Again, from the bottom of my cold, black heart, thank you, everyone of you. 


	6. Epilogue

"Kitty, Ah don't know what yah're so excited about. Tha date ain't fohr anotha two months, at least. And yah aren't even goin." Midnight in the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children, and the great mansion lay in relative silence, a quiet rare considering the number of pubescent residents contained within. Rogue had returned the previous day, and the welcome had been both generous and joyous, and the warm emotions only increased upon hearing the news of Rogue's newly-acquired control of her powers. Even students who rarely, if ever, spoke to Rogue were lining up for their chance to congratulate the Southern Goth.

"Like, Rogue, it should be obvious! You're going on a date with the guy of your dreams!" Kitty rolled her eyes as though what she'd said was as obvious a fact as how to take in oxygen. "Rogue, this guy has been, like, drooling over you since before he moved here, and I know you've had it bad for him for a while." Rogue had always been a very private person, even before the onset of her mutation. Irene had instilled a deep sense of privacy and personal space into the girl from a very early age. However, after sharing a room with the enthusiastic gossip for several months, Rogue had begun to open up to the girl, and by the time the first year rolled around, the two were sharing lengthy midnight conversations. Every now and then, however, Rogue longed for that old privacy, at no time more than when Kitty entered into a discussion of the opposite sex. Kitty's latest statement snapped Rogue out of her approaching sleep, launching her into a full upright position.

"What did ya just say? Ah have not been droolin ova thaht Swamp Rat! Ah neva shoulda told ya about this."

"You know, Rogue, you shouldn't make denials like that. I mean, how would your boyfriend react?" Kitty stated coolly, fully cognizant of the ill effect it would have on her short-tempered roommate.

"Kitty, Ah'm gonna toss ya out the damn window, Ah swear…" Rogue growled through tightly clamped teeth. As Kitty turned to lie down, smirking slightly, Rogue had a sudden thought concerning retribution against her best friend.

"Ya know, Kit, as long as we're discussing boyfriends, how about ya tell me what exactly ya and Piotr got goin on." It was Rogue's turn to smirk as Kitty sprang out of bed with the timed immediacy of an animatronics puppet, sputtering to form some semblance of a coherent sentence

"Like, I have no idea what you're talking about Rogue!" Kitty finally managed to gasp out after several minutes of hemming and hawing. "Piotr and I are just very good friends. We-we, like, got into a nice discussion about literature, that's all, Rogue."

"Ya know Kitty, I don't think ya're bohfriend would be too happy to hear thaht." Rogue smirked evilly as she turned to go to sleep, her smile growing wider as a pillow hurled by Kitty. Despite being extremely wired due to the exchange with her roommate, the two weeks of fitful sleep and medical testing soon overtook the momentary rush of adrenaline that came from verbally sparring with her friend.

As Rogue's pale eyelids fell together, obscuring her eyes from the world, Kitty still sat up in her bed mere feet away. Despite her quick vocal denial of any amorous emotions directed toward the statuesque Russian, within her own head the answer was nowhere close to comprehensible. Contradicting voices rang through her head until they blended together into a seamless whine, serving only to further confuse the petite teenager. As her roommate slept peacefully for the first time in weeks, Kitty found that sleep eluded her as the illuminated red numbers cruelly mocked her.

* * *

"Leave it alone" James Wilson declared as he trod down the interlocking hallways, following his friend and co-worker.

"Are you heartless? One of my employees has obviously had some sort of deep, traumatic experience. What kind of boss would I be if I didn't do everyone I could to help him?"

"There aren't enough hours in the day to answer that question," came James' sarcastic response as they approached an elevator, a random goal to a trip with no direction. "Where are you going?"

"Where are _we_ going, you mean." James shook his head and sighed as he entered the elevator. He had no idea as to their current destination, but he hoped that he could talk House out of whatever he had planned before they both arrived.

* * *

His feet perched on the nearest table within leg's reach of his chair; Remy took in a second sip of his first coffee of the day.

_Jus as good as de first. Dis coffee might actually worth wakin up at dis ungodly hour o de morning._ Since coming to the institute, Remy had not tasted a single cup of coffee that didn't taste exactly like its place of origin, that origin being the ancient coffeemaker that resided in the kitchen. _Probably de only electronic t'ing in de whole place dat hasn't met it's death at de hands o dese kids._ Remy thought with a grimace, a grimace that was erased with the aid of his coffee.

"Stormy, Remy got ti say dis is de best cup o coffee he ever had."

"Thank you very much, Mr. LeBeau," Said the calm woman as she moved gracefully toward the table, clutching her own mug of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. Once she reached the table, however, she refused to sit, instead staring with annoyance at the black boots propped up with lazy abandon. However, once Storm cleared her throat and made brief eye contact with the Cajun teen, his boots found their rightful place below the table.

"If ya don' mind, Yi can call me Remy. Dis Cajun ain't old enough ti be called Mr. jus yet."

"Just consider it a nickname, Mr. Lebeau." Ororo said, her mug of coffee obscuring the small smile that drew itself across her lips as she concentrated on the plate before her. Remy raised a single eyebrow at her statement, and then smiled despite himself.

"Touché, Chere."

"Before I forget, I should warn you to avoid Logan as long as is possible. He's none too pleased about your sneaking out of the mansion."

"Remy takes no responsibility fo dat." He grinned over his steaming cup of coffee as Storm looked up from her breakfast for the first time since sitting down.

"Is that so?"

"Remy was falsely accused. Besides, Remy t'inks dat certain lady was dere to aid him in his escape."

"And I believe I promised to help you get back to the hospital. I said nothing about protecting you once you returned." Ororo returned her eyes to her plate of food, a move that denied her the sight of Remy's normally smug features suddenly turning to that of stunned disbelief, the young man not believing his own ears.

"Dere any chance ya were a thief in a former life, Stormy?" Blue eyes filled with a rare mischief briefly met red.

"A woman must have her secrets, Mr. Lebeau."

* * *

"So we done here, Summers? You convinced Remy ain't do anything to yer automotive, or you want ti take de engine apart again?" After his breakfast with Ororo, Remy had taken to actively avoiding Logan for the day. Unfortunately, his espionage had promptly led him right into the path of Scott Summers, who was still fuming about the unexpected joyride Remy had taken with the red and white beauty. Four hours after first running into the team leader, Remy had been happy he hadn't changed before helping Ororo in her greenhouse. The white T-shirt he normally slept in was soiled with so much engine grime and grease that a passerby would not be able to ascertain any clue as to the shirt's original color. Scott, on the other hand, had long ago abandoned his blue polo and was currently walking around shirtless; a move that did not go unnoticed by the younger female population of Xavier's, who had seemingly made a game out of who could walk by the open garage door the slowest. On any other day, Remy would have gladly absorbed the attention, but his patience had long since worn thin, and his only current concern was getting out of the garage and into the shower. Scott, leaning over the open hood and grasping the side for support, let out several slow, long exhales before meeting his quartz-clad eyes to Remy's own red and black.

"No, I'm satisfied that my car is fine. However, we're far from done here." A deaf man could have heard Remy's hopes crash land. A grimace crossed his features.

"Dat right? You just have so much fun rebuildin yer own car you feel like doin dis all day?"

"We need to talk, Remy. About Rogue." Scott walked over to the tall red toolbox that had been wheeled next to the car, the very same toolbox that was practically standard issue in garages all over America, and began wiping his hands with a cloth.

"And just what do we got to talk about, Summers?"

"For starters, my name is Scott. Summers is my last name, _Remy,_" Started Scott, making sure to exaggerate his pronunciation of Remy's name. "And secondly, we've got a lot to talk about. I'm curious to know what exactly your interest in Rogue is." Remy was largely uninterested in what Scott was saying, until he heard the end of Scott's statement.

"Remy's interest in Rogue? What de hell is dat supposed to mean?"

"Exactly how it sounds. Even before you joined us, you had Rogue singled out. What kind of plans do you have for her?" That response, plus the look of pure seriousness that lay on Scott's face, made it incredibly hard for Remy to not laugh out loud at how ludicrous he found this entire situation.

"I got a nice dinner planned for her. We gonna go into de restaurant, we gonna eat our food, den Remy gonna drive une beau petite back to de mansion. Remy apologizes if dat ain't sinister enough for you, but he don't know a whole lot o mad scientists," As his grin stretched from ear to ear at the agitated look he was receiving from his fellow housemate, he couldn't help but push the whole thing just a little farther. "You wouldn't happen to know any, would ya? Maybe ya could help-"

"Knock it off, Remy! I'm serious about this!"

"So am I. I ain't gonna do nothing ti hurt Rogue." Remy briefly noticed that the girls had long stopped walking by the garage.

"How can we trust you?"

"Scott, how long's Remy been at dis institute?" Remy collapsed backward against the nearest wall and lit a cigarette, the thin wisps of blue smoke curling up as he inhaled, only to be destroyed by the smoke exiting from his lungs. "I ain't yer enemy anymore so quit treatin me like one," This last sentence sent Scott into a stunned silence, losing himself in his thoughts as an uneasy quiet settled over the expansive garage. Still glaring at Scott through narrowed eyes, Remy took in a couple of frantic puffs of smoke before continuing. "I joined dis place fo a reason, and dat reason ain't have nothing to do wit Magneto o de Acolytes. You ain't givin Piotr dis sort o shit, so why me?"

"Piotr didn't have a choice. You did."

"You don't know nearly as much as you t'ink ya do, Scott." The anger in the air was palpable as the two men stood with noses nearly touching, almost daring the other to throw a punch first.

"Listen," Scott started, attempting to diffuse the powder keg he was partially responsible for lighting. "I'm sure that you had your reasons, but that's not what I'm interested in right now. I just want to know that this attention you're giving Rogue is genuine."

"And jus why de hell is dat any business o yer's?" Remy a passionate man in many aspects of life, and arguments were no exception. It was blatantly obvious that Remy did not share Scott's interest in ending the quarrel.

"Because you are both my teammates. You need to be able to work together in any battle, and that means that there can't be any personal issues clouding your judgment." At this, Remy's stone-serious expression upturned, and he laughed right in Scott's face.

"Mon ami, yi eva listen ti yerself when ya talk? Remy takin' de femme out on a date, not ti de alta. Rogue a tre beau femme, but Remy ain't gonna do anyt'ing dat de girl don want ti. Yi been readin' too many James Bond books, mon ami. What exactly did yi t'ink Remy was gonna do, anyway? Take de girl to mi undaground lair? Trap her in a shark tank?" Scott's countenance first displayed puzzlement, then, to Remy's surprise, Scott smiled.

"Thanks. That's exactly what I was looking for." Scott grabbed his shirt and exited the garage, leaving Remy standing alone in the garage, confused.

"_Dat's_ what he was lookin for? I t'ought dat livin' wit Johnny had prepared me fo dealin' wit craziness."

* * *

At the exact moment that Remy was standing in the garage debating Scott's mental condition, Rogue's day was proving none less confusing. Despite being exhausted beyond all rationale, her sleep had been panicked and fitful, punctuated by her waking up twice after hitting her cranial scars in the exact wrong way. To top it all off, she had been awoken at the profane hour of nine in the morning by the Professor to discuss a myriad of subjects, not the least of which dealt with the three weeks worth of missed school. Rogue had long since stopped paying any attention to Charles, instead choosing to play Mindless Self Indulgence songs in her own head.

**_Rogue, while I realize that there are a great many things you would rather be doing at this hour, I would like to remind you that this of dire importance. _** Rogue nearly jumped out of her seat. Despite her lengthy stay at the institute, one thing that Rogue had never quite adjusted to was dealing with living with someone who could enter her head at will. She concentrated on her boots for several seconds before meeting Charles' gaze from across the desk.

"Sorrah Professor. Ah…Ah jus didn't get a whole lot a sleep las naght."

"Be that as it may, Rogue, I'm still concerned, and not solely about the considerable amount of schoolwork that you are going to have to make up. I'm concerned about your powers."

"Mah powas? But…tha doctors said that they fixed them. They said it was all the fault of thaht tumor…" Rogue trailed off, not wanting to consider that her powers…her curse…was not truly fixed at all.

"Your powers are no longer uncontrollable, yes. However, I'm apprehensive about the sudden switch when you have had such little control for such a long time. I've asked Logan to remove you from the regular Danger Room rotation until further notice. He will be working with you directly."

"Workin with meh…how, exactly?"

"I want to ascertain exactly how your powers will work now that your control is heightened."

"Wait…Ah'm gonna be an experiment?" Rogue asked, ire already injecting itself into her words.

"Not at all, Rogue. I'm simply concerned about how your powers will adapt given this new development." Rogue nodded silently, still unconvinced about the entire situation. "I can sense your trepidation at this request, Rogue. However, I can assure you that I have no underhanded intentions for you. We are solely concerned with your safety."

"We? Who's we?" Rogue demanded, the anger rising like bile.

"Dr. McCoy, Logan, and myself. I would recommend talking to Logan at some point. He's been especially concerned with your well-being over these past few weeks."

"Was this Logan's idea?" Logan had become one of the few people at the institute Rogue felt she could honestly trust.

"A large part of it was. Logan approached Henry and me after last night's festivities. He was curious as to how your powers would operate now that you had more control.Henry and I shared Logan's concern, and after a long conversation, we came up with the idea to have Logan train with you alone, just until we have a clear reading on your powers."

"Ah…Ah guess that sounds good." Rogue muttered as she rubbed her bicep with her palm, a nervous habit she had possessed for as long as she could remember.

"You will have some time before anything starts, Rogue. At the present time, we're all just all glad you're alright."

"Believe meh, Ah am too." Xavier allowed a small smile to cross his lips.

"I'm sure you are. Now, unless you have any more questions, I believe Dr. McCoy has requested your presence in the medical bay."

"Nah, Am'm all right fohr now."

Disturbing memories of Mystique flitted through her mind throughout the entire walk down to the medical bay. She could see wispy images of the redheaded femme fatale in the back of her head, taunting her like a possessed move projector.

_Why do all mah problems have red hair? _Rogue asked herself, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer to that question, especially considering she herself had red hair most of the time. _Most of tha tame, anyway,_ she thought as she gingerly lifted a hand to her shorn head.

"Ah, Rogue. I wasn't expecting you this early. I had assumed Charles would have taken longer to talk with you." Henry lifted his enlarged feet off of the stainless steel industrial desk he had propped them upon and walked over to greet Rogue. When she saw what he had been involved in previous to her entry, a smile crossed her purple lips.

"Ya were eatin Twinkies, Dr. McCoy?"

"It is indeed a small vice, but a vice nonetheless."

"Ah figured a guy lahke you would be against junk food."

"Of course I am an active proponent of the ingestion of healthful fruits and vegetables, but as the great Oscar Wilde, once said, 'I can resist everything except temptation.' Now, if you would be so kind as to sit this chair, this examination shouldn't be overly lengthy." Rogue didn't sit so much as slump into the chair, her past memories wearing her nerves raw.

"Hey, Docta McCoy, can ah talk to ya fohr a minute?" Hank grasped Rogue's bare wrist and held the pad of his thumb just below the palm.

"Of course you may, Rogue. I am always open to discussion."

"Well, what do ya think is gonna happen now that mah mutation is controllable?" Henry removed his thumb and placed a sphygmomanometer around Rogue's lean bicep.

"Science and medicine have yet to truly study the mutant x-gene and mutation over long periods of time, and as such it is difficult to ascertain exactly what effect the removal of the tumor will have over an extended period of time. You may be interested to know that your unique circumstance may in fact change the entire approach to the control of powers. With your permission, Rogue, I'd like to write up your case study for publication," Hank removed the mechanical device. "120 over 80. Perfect blood pressure."

"Wait, what do ya mean publish mah case?" Rogue questioned, the ire coming back into her voice, rapidly replacing the nervousness that had so recently dwelled within her.

"I have no desire to anger you, my dear," Henry stated quickly but calmly. "However, you must understand that yours is the first documented case of mutant powers being affected by a cancerous growth. I don't mean to speak in such grandiose terms so quickly; however, you have made history, Rogue, and not just for mutants. The entire medical community could benefit from this new information."

"Wow…ya know, when ya put it thaht way, ya don't give a meh much of a choiace."

"Of course the choice is ultimately up to you Rogue. I wouldn't want you thinking otherwise. It is your private medical history, and I would not write a single word without your permission." Henry could tell his explanation had worked; Rogue was appeased. Her features reverted back to their normal countenance, and the Medical bay again fell under a gentle calm, the only sounds being Hank's humming and the constant whirring of the ancient desktop computer that held within it the medical files of virtually every resident of the Xavier institute.

The remainder of Rogue's stay in the medical bay was uneventful, with all of her vital signs well within healthy range. She left Hank with his private stash of Twinkies and a game of Minesweeper as she wandered off towards her room, nothing left on her itinerary except homework and personal reflection.

* * *

"House, you've finally managed to crack a case without involving the ethics board or a circuit court judge. I'm not sure why you want to push this now." Wilson sat with House in the hospital cafeteria, the lunch rush beginning even at the relatively early morning hour of eleven-thirty. The sun shone through the high rectangular windows that lay within the oak walls, rays of gold light bouncing off imperfections in the grey-green linoleum.

"One of my employees refused to do my bidding." Stated House through a mouthful of half-chewed sauerkraut and corned beef. "It sets a bad example for all my other pawns."

"Do I dare ask what sort of twisted logic is behind the rationale?" House gave Wilson a look that clearly questioned the oncologist's sanity before answering.

"If I let this go, any of them will think its ok to ignore my requests. I need them to do their work."

"House, you have employees who frequently break into patient's homes. I'm fairly positive that you have all the control you need over them." House took another bite of his Reuben before snatching a few French fries from Wilson's plate.

"And I want to keep that control." Stated House, again with a mouth full of food. His slouched posture, resting his weight on his right elbow, while his head sank below his broad shoulders clothed in a wrinkled sport coat over a black band t-shirt, stood in sharp contrast to Wilson's perfect posture, clothing himself in a proper lab jacket and a silk tie with regimental stripes.

"Ok, then what's your great plan House? Keep in mind, however, that this hospital is not a dictatorship."

"You obviously haven't seen Cuddy when I miss clinic hours. Eat quickly, we've got an appointment."

"The only appointment you have today is your clinic hours, which started forty-five minutes ago." The voice of authority boomed behind House.

"Jimmy, is she wearing a leather corset and holding a whip?" House leaned and questioned Wilson in a mock whisper.

"Uh, no." Answered Wilson as he quickly shot an apologetic look towards Cuddy. House grimaced before finally turning to face his boss.

"Didn't you get my memo? Tuesdays are leather day, Wednesdays are schoolgirl day, and Thursdays are-"

"Don't finish that sentence if you value your paycheck, House. I have more pressing issues than tracking you down every day, so get to the clinic. You're in luck, there's a man in with a swollen tongue. That should entertain you for a few hours."

* * *

"Alright kid, how much'd Chuck tell ya?" Within the gymnasium annex, the floor covered in standard-issue blue vinyl mats, Logan stood in front of Rogue, both dressed down for the occasion.

"All Ah realla know is that I'm trainin' with ya until Ah'm told othawaise." Stated Rogue with a hint of bitterness in her voice as she crossed her arms across her chest. Despite the extreme age difference between her and Logan, she stood several inches taller than him, although the height difference was not immediately noticeable due to Rogue's tendency to slouch.

"Well, don't sound so overjoyed, stripes."

"Look, Ah fanally got what Ah've been workin towards since Ah found out Ah was a mutant. Ah'm taired of bein treated with the kid gloves." Rogue paused, thinking over her statement. "And Ah didn't mean that as a pun." Logan grinned.

"You don't exactly strike me as the type to make puns, kid. Look, I know yer tired of this, Chuck knows, and so does Hank. That's why yer in here. We wanna make sure this control is permanent. Soon as we know this thing really is permanent, you go back to the Danger Room."

"Wait…that's it? A few sessions here and Ah'm out?"

"Yea. What'd Hank and Chuck tell ya?"

"The way they put it, it sounded laike Ah was some sort of experiment."

"Nah, kid. It ain't anything like that. Chuck and I both know how long you've been wantin this. All we're doin is making sure you're one hundred percent."

"What about Hank?" Rogue asked, but it was clear that her mood had already improved dramatically. Logan made a dismissive noise.

"Hank ain't anything to worry about. Sure, he's caught in all that science crap, but he wants ya to be safe all the same. Look, stripes, I ain't much fer speeches and you ain't much for bullshit, so I'm gonna make this short. I was damn worried about ya when you were lyin' in that hospital bed. I blamed Cyke, blamed the Cajun, and blamed myself. So you ain't goin back into the field until I'm damn sure yer alright. You don't like it, tough." Rogue stood in front of Logan for several seconds before hugging the burly man.

"Thanks, Logan." Logan stared at the pale woman for several seconds, regarding her act with a curious eye, judging her as if to see how to respond to this invasion of personal space. Logan was one who usually solved his problems with his claws rather than his words. This was extremely beneficial on the battlefield and his numerous victories were all the testament necessary to that fact. However, it left him with some lacking abilities when dealing with the students of the manor. He had adjusted quite admirably according to many of the mansion's older residents, even going so far as to look upon Kitty and Rogue like they were his own daughters. The hug, however, continued to elude him. He patted her on the back a few times before releasing himself from her grasp.

"Hey, don't start going all soft on me, kid. Come on, let's get to practicin'."

Two hours later, Rogue was collapsed onto a worn wooden bench; some spots scraped of the varnish that once prevented splinters while other were chipped away from boredom, accidents, or a combination of the two. Her head lightly collided with the mirrored wall behind her, leaning her upper body at a forty-five degree, but the pain, if any, did not register. She grabbed a white towel near her thigh with all the animation of a sore zombie and dropped the terrycloth material on her face to absorb the sweat pouring in rivulets from her forehead. The soaked feeling brought up edgy emotions in her, the sweat reminding her of her disease so near in the past.

"Come on kid, A couple a weeks in the hospital and you've gone soft on me."

"Mahp mur mspdt mi be gmin esy mun me." Came the reply, muffled through the folded layers of the gym towel. Rogue grasped the towel lightly with a single hand, not removing it so much as letting the towel fall along with her hand, revealing a worn out expression. "Ah thaught ya were sapposed ti bea goin easy on meh." Rogue repeated.

"That was easy. Tomorrow we're gonna see how that mutation of yours is working." Logan stalked out of the gymnasium, Rogue sitting up and glaring at his retreating form.

"Cruel and unusual punishment was outlawed, ya know!" She then allowed her form to sink back against the cool glass of the mirror. _Ah'll go up in a few minutes…_She thought as her heavy eyelids swooped shut.

* * *

Rogue awoke with a sudden start. _How long was Ah asleep?_ She wondered as she moved her head from right to left quickly, scanning the gym for any inhabitants. Determining that the room was devoid of any life other than her own, she stretched her muscles, sore from reclining in the uncomfortable position for so long, before languidly rising to her feet and hurrying out of the gym towards the upper levels of the mansion and her own room. Her rubber soled sneakers made slight squeaking noises on the slip-proof metal that made up the floor of the lower levels. The clock hung outside the gymnasium told the time of near six-thirty P.M., almost dinner in the Xavier manor, but Rogue only felt an appetite for a long rest, the nap she took only serving to exhaust her further. She climbed into the sterile stainless steel that constructed the elevator and pushed the number of her room, the Greek numeral backlit with a sickly florescent yellow-orange as the elevator began to hum as it rose high into the atmosphere. The cables moved fluidly and the doors opened to the dorm levels within less than a minute. She stepped out onto the fine threaded rug that ran the length of the hallway with her eyes affixed firmly on the ground, which caused her to jump back as soon as she saw the sudden appearance of her roommate's form.

"Kitty! Don't startle meh laike that!" Kitty merely rolled her eyes in response, a frequent response from the young girl.

"Rogue, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Well, ya obviously didn't look fohr meh in tha Gym, cause Ah fell asleep there afta Logan's workout." Kitty grimaced at the last of Rogue's sentence.

"Like, I can't exactly blame you for that. Come on, like, dinner's almost ready." Rogue's shoulders slumped.

"Kitty, Ah can bairly stand uhp. Just tell tha Professa thaht Ah'm asleep."

"Well-"

"Kitty!" Rogue snapped, louder and with more force than she intended. Kitty's blue eyes widened at her friend's sudden, angry outburst. The Southern took a deep breath before continuing. "Sorra. Look, Ah realla just need some sleep. The last few weeks took mohre outta meh than Ah thought. All Ah wanna do is lay down fohr a couple a daiys. Alraight?" There were a great many things Kitty wanted to mention to Rogue at that moment. However, she had been acquainted with Rogue long enough to know that no word could better describe her than _stubborn_. Once Rogue got an idea into her head, very few things could prevent her from realizing that idea. So, anything that Kitty should have told Rogue got tucked into the rear of her own grey matter. She allowed her usual bubbly manner to resurface to overtake her countenance.

"Like, alright. Do you want me to bring you up anything to eat?"

"Sure, if ya feel laike it." Rogue mumbled as she stumbled away with the gait of an ancient wino. Kitty stared at her friend's uneasy form for several seconds before quickly moving towards the elevator.

_Like, if he wants to see her so bad, I guess he'll see her._ Kitty thought_. Hope he knows what he's getting into._

"Gawd, Finallaly!" Rogue exclaimed to no one in particular as she reached the door to her room, a journey of less than twenty-five feet from where she met Kitty, yet it felt to Rogue like a journey through an abysmal desert. She threw open the fine cherry door to her room and stepped inside, her bed a shining oasis. She flopped down as though tossed from a great height, savoring the rich comfort of her cotton bedding. She rubbed a bare hand up and down the soft fabric of the goose-down comforter, closing her eyes and surrendering her being to the mythical sandman…

"Cherie, yi don' know what I'd give ti be dat comforter right now." Came a voice through the darkness that could only belong to one person Rogue with whom Rogue was acquainted. Despite her knowledge of the man behind the voice, its sudden appearance startled Rogue for the second time within fifteen minutes enough to send her careening off her bed and onto the floor in an unceremonious heap of limbs. "Dieu! Yi OK, chere?" Rogue would swear later that steam was coming out of her ears as she lay in the dark, sprawled out on the shag carpeting she and Kitty had purchased months ago, one of the few joint decorating decisions ever to be made concerning their living quarters.

"Do Ah look OK ta you!? Ah fell on tha floor, damnnit!" She heard soft footsteps as Gambit rushed to help her to her feet.

"Dat didn't hurt too bad, did it?" As soon as the words escaped his lips, Remy regretted them, even more so when Rogue let loose with her retaliation, landing a crushing kick to Remy shin, regrettably unguarded by the armor that constructed his field costume.

"Merde!"

"It feilt kinda laike thaht, case ya were wonderin." Rogue grumbled as she writhed in dull pain on the floor. Remy stumbled backward from Rogue's punt, landing on Kitty's bed and grasping his shin in pain.

"Was dat really necessary?" Rogue's eyes widened at this question.

"Necessary? Is it necessary fohr Logan ta push meh fohr ova two hours and callit carin? Is it necessary fohr Hank ta wanna publish every sick thang that happened ta me? And lastly, is it necessary fohr ya ta lurk in mah room like a damned stalker!?" Rogue could feel frustration and hopelessness rising in her throat like bile, the acidic sting eerily similar. She began to pound her fist onto the floor in an effort to prevent tears from rising up. "All Ah wanna do is lay in bed and naht get up fher a month. Wha is that so much ta ask around hehre?"

"Dat ain't so much ti ask dere, Cherie." Said Remy in the calmest voice he could muster, feeling both incredible pain in his leg and incredible guilt over seeing the object of his affections worn to the bone form stress and exhaustion. "Look, 'm sorry bout scarin yi like dat. Yi know I didn't mean yi no harm, oui?"

"Fahne." Came Rogue's weak, muffled reply.

"Bon. 'm jus gonna get yi ti sleep and see miself out." Remy roughly got to his feet, straining himself as so to show no signs of pain. Rogue tensed up momentarily when she felt Remy pick her up, but relaxed when she realized he had picked her up by the middle of her back and the back of her knees, both hands far removed from any areas of concern. He gently laid her out on the mussed sheets, still unmade from her awakening several hours before. She roughly crawled beneath the wrinkled sheets and slumped her head onto her pillow, feeling herself drift off into sleep.

"Sleep tight, Rogue. 'm still holdin yi ti dat dinner." Remy whispered into her ear, but Rogue was already deep in her slumber. Utilizing the years of thief's training under his belt, Remy crept out the room, favoring the lower portion of his injured leg.

Taking care to move swiftly but silently down the cavernous hallways running throughout the upper levels of his residence as he made his way back to the room he shared with Piotr Rasputin, one of the only residents with whom he ever spent any leisure time. Even then, their friendship was due not to a plethora of shared interests but instead their shared experience serving under Magneto. They had both dreaded the wraith of the elder mutant, for different reasons, however, that dread had forged a bond between the two. Remy's dread at the moment, was not his former mentor, but instead Logan, who Remy was positive was still hunting him down. Poking his head out for a fleeting recon before ducking back behind the corner, he saw that the hallway leading down towards his room was clear, deserted.

_Dis it. Jus run down de hall, unlock ya door, and yi're free and clear…_

"Now, how about that. Just the Cajun I've been lookin for." Remy felt the rough paw of a human hand land with a forceful thud on his shoulder from behind him, the low growl that came along with it belonging to the one person Remy had been working the entire day to avoid. He turned to face his accuser slowly, working to keep the fear from bubbling over in his shaking voice as he stood to make eye contact with the diminutive yet formidable Canadian.

"Now-now den, Remy been lookin-n everywhere fo yi-"

"Shut it, Gumbo," snarled Logan, taking a large swing from the beer in his hand. "I wasn't born last night, so don't try to feed me any crap, got it?" Remy merely nodded, too dumbstruck to make any semblance of a vocal response. Logan turned his lips into a distorted sneer and twisted his head to the side, as though working a disgusting taste out of his mouth.

"Look, Monsieur Howlett, 'm-"

"Didn't I tell ya ta shut it?" Remy's eyes flashed a bright red and he clamped his lips tight. "That's better, Gumbo. Look, Professor filled me in on all the details about Rogue. Said what she has she's had since birth. He also said there was no way you coulda done that to her. Christ, I can't believe I'm actually gong to say this, but…" Logan let a deep groan. "Sorry about accusing you a poisonin the kid. I guess I got a little scared when I heard that the tumor wasn't the reason she was so sick, then I got angry and, well, you know the rest. Anyway, didn't mean anything against ya." Remy let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in at the end of Logan's monologue. He spoke quickly, still wanting to get away from Logan as quickly as he was able.

"Pology accepted, mon ami. Now, Remy's just gonna retire ti de comfot o his room fo de night, so he jus be getting outta yi hair." Remy made a quick spin to leave, but his movement was again impeded by Logan's muscular hand. Turning to face his elder again, he was greeted with a maniacal grin painted across Logan's features. Logan pulled his hand back from the worn material of Remy's t-shirt to pull a cigar from the breast pocket of his own faded plaid western shirt. Logan flipped open his silver Zippo and sparked the brown tube to life before speaking again.

"Now, that issue's settled, but we still got the problem of you missin' a Danger Room session with me," Logan blew a large cloud of thick smoke from the opposite side of his mouth. "Course, I got a solution for that too."

Remy could not recall a time before in his life that someone so small had made him quake with so much fear.

* * *

Two months had passed since Rogue's disease and subsequent treatment, and the mansion's population had settled back into their familiar roles. The kid gloves everyone had treated Rogue with upon her return had been cast off, and she had reentered regular Danger Room sessions, ending her private tutelage under Logan. Her mutation worked the same as before, only now she could decide when to drain someone and when not to. Her wardrobe was changing in small increments, the long years of covering herself from neck to toe forming a habit that was tough to break.

Clothing was certainly a subject at the forefront of Rogue's consciousness, whether she wanted it to be or not. Her roommate, Kitty, was currently storming through Rogue's closet with all the careful precision of a runaway bulldozer with no brakes being piloted by a drunken heroin addict. Kitty had taken it upon herself to select a proper outfit for Rogue's imminent date, an event that found Kitty more excited about the event than Rogue herself. Kitty made a low noise of disapproval before tossing another article of Rogue's over her shoulder onto the floor below.

"Rogue, don't you, like, own anything that can be worn on a date?"

"Noht accordin tah you, obviously." Rogue said, no attempt made to hide the dejection in her southern drawl. Rogue sat on the side of her bed facing Kitty, her chin cradled in her palm. Rogue had finally broken down the before, finally agreeing to own up to her promise of a date with Remy. He had been overjoyed, although at the moment Rogue was unable to clearly discern who was more excited about her saying yes, Remy or Kitty.

_Tha onlay one who ain't ovajoyed is meh._ Rogue thought, however her thoughts were rudely interrupted by a pair of black and red bondage pants landing directly on top of her short brown and white hair.

"Dang it Kitty! Watch where yah're throwin mah clothin!" Rogue shouted, yanking the pants off of her head and throwing them to the ground in a fit of rage. Kitty turned around, her features a convoluted mix of sheepishness and apology.

"Sorry Rogue. Did I, like, hit you?"

"Ah think yah know tha answer tah thaht."

"Like, I totally didn't mean that. Look, I'm just, like, trying to find something for you to wear tonight. Come on, Rogue, this is, like, your big night!"

"Ah know, Ah know. Yah've said thaht ahbout ten tahmes tahday." Rogue collapsed onto her black cotton comforter, throwing her left forearm over eyes. "Wha'd Ah even tell him Ah'd go ohn this stupid date, anywahy? Ah must have been ohn something those doctohrs gave meh."

"Rogue, don't be such a drama queen," said Kitty with a roll of her blue eyes. "Come on, Remy's nuts about you, and, like, I know you feel the same way. Come on, like, this is only, like, one date. I also know for, like, a fact that you wouldn't have agreed to this date if you didn't want to go on it." Rogue moved her arm just enough to make eye contact with her roommate.

"Whaht exactly do yah mean by thaht?"

"Come on, ever since he and Piotr arrived, Remy's been flirting with you. All of a sudden, you go from dodging him every time he walks into a room to agreeing to a date. You want him, Rogue. Bad." Rogue wanted to do nothing more than punch that self-satisfied smirk off Kitty's lips, but she didn't. Instead, Rogue lay there, staring at her roommate, knowing that in some small way, Kitty was right. Rogue, however, would never admit it to her.

"Kitty, Ah hope yah ain't planin a careeh in psychology, cause it ain't happenin."

"Like, you're just mad because I'm right. Hey, here's something," Rogue clamped her eyes shut, dreading to see what horrid thing Kitty had dredged from the murky depths of the closet. When she finally laid her eyes upon the article of clothing her roommate held up like a trophy, Rogue was astonished. A silk and satin evening gown, it was a dark burgundy, a sartorial anomaly where Rogue was concerned, as the majority of her outfits were black and green, the teenage Goths favorite colors. "Like, when did you pick this up?"

"Ah picked it up a few yeahs bahck, fohr one of tha dances. It's just kinda been hangin in thahre eva since." Kitty stared at her roommate with wanton disbelief in her crystal blue eyes.

"Rogue, this dress is totally gorgeous! You're telling me you just let this thing go to waste?"

"When did ya think Ah was gonna whear thaht thang?"

"Tonight." Kitty answered coolly. Rogue grimaced as she ran a bare hand down the length of the blood-red material, the silk cool to the touch. Kitty was right, Rogue thought, this _was_ a beautiful dress. It had also cost her a small fortune, and it seemed a shame to spend that much on something if she wasn't going to use it.

"Well? Are you going to wear this or not?"

"Yeah, wha noht? Ah mean, Ah guess it is a shame tah let this go tah wahste." Kitty's eyes lit up like Christmas and she grew a Cheshire cat grin.

"Great", exclaimed Kitty as she laid the dress on Rogue's bed. "Now we need to find the perfect lipstick and eye shadow to go with it!"

"Is thaht entiahrly necessary? Ah mean, Ah think Ah cahn hahndle puttion on a little makeup..." Said Rogue uneasily, beginning to regret asking her friend to help her.

* * *

Remy lightly charged the remnants of his cigarette and flicked it into the evening sky, the useless filter exploding several feet above the lawn. It had been his sixth in the past hour, a high number even for him. As he lit another cigarette, Remy focused on what had led to this moment. The Cajun man was feeling increasingly nervous about the night's plans, a feeling that Logan had done nothing to help. The surly Canadian had taken it upon himself to give Remy a three hour pep-talk that boiled down to various threats of castration should he touch Rogue inappropriately.

_Firs, de man traps me in a van fo fo ours an talks bout his feelins, den dis. Wonda if dat man is eva gonna trus me. _Remy paced back and forth on the front step, losing himself in his thoughts and rhetorical questions, the fast-paced voice of Kitty Pryde shocking him out his thoughts.

"Remy! Like, put that thing out! Rogue's ready to go and you smell like nicotine!"

"Sorry petite. I smoke mo when 'm nervous." Kitty made an unintelligible grunt that Remy interpreted to mean frustration.

"Like, I get that you're nervous, but couldn't you just, like, chew your lip or something? Something that doesn't reek?" Remy flicked the half-smoked cigarette over the railing, again infusing it with a small kinetic charge.

"I like de smell o dem." Remy muttered as he followed the young brunette through the tall cherry wood doors that made up the main entrance of the institute. Remy darted his eyes from right to left, using his lifetime of training as a thief to assess the room within seconds. "Where's Rogue? I th'ought you said she was ready."

"She's waiting upstairs. She wants to make a grand entrance. Now, like, stay right here." Kitty walked backwards with her hands outstretched for several feet before bounding up the grand staircase, taking them two at a time. She checked again, making sure Remy hadn't snuck up behind her. She spied him in the foyer, still in the same place she left him. _Good, _the petite brunette thought as she turned to her friend.

"Ok, Rogue, are you ready for the big entrance?"

"These shoes ahre killin mah feet. Cahn't Ah just whear tha sahme boots Ah always do?" When Rogue's green eyes met with the narrowed stare and cocked eyebrow that was Kitty's face, combined with the arms folded squarely across her chest, Rogue guessed that her answer was no. Rogue sighed loudly, letting Kitty know just how much she despised what she was wearing. Taking another deep breath and taking slow, steady steps with the foreign footwear as she grasped the banister with a pale, ungloved hand, Rogue prayed to every religious deity she could imagine that she would make it down the stairs unharmed. The heels on the shoes were pencil-thin, much thinner than what she was used to, and she felt a sense of accomplishment every time she landed her feet squarely on the thin carpeting covering each step of the staircase. When her left foot finally landed on the carpeting covering the ground floor, she let out a cool breath of relief , then looked up to meet the eyes of her date. If Rogue hadn't been nervous to the point of psychosis at that point in time, she would have laughed out loud. She had been so nervous about tripping down the staircase, and the whole time Remy was standing stock-still in the middle of the foyer, mouth agape and chin nearly hitting the ground.

"Ya mahight want ta close yahr mouth, Cajun, unless yahr tryin ta catch flies." Rogue states, hoping the comment sounds as offhand as she intended. Remy appeared not to notice, the sound of a voice enough to snap him out of his daydream. He shook his head from side to side quickly, clearing out the cobwebs from his thoughts.

"Yi look beau, chere. Absolutely…beau…" Remy trailed off, his verbal skills obviously impaired by the sight before him. Rogue was almost livid. She couldn't believe that Remy Lebeau, the notorious flirt himself, had been so easily silenced. She had little time to dwell on this fact, however, as Kitty was soon behind Rogue, hurrying her and Remy out the door, similar to a mother eager to get her children outside on a beautiful summer day.

Scott's familiar convertible waited out front in the rotary. Remy had driven it before, but this was the first time he had asked permission of the owner beforehand. Remy loved his motorcycle, he did, but there were some things that required the luxury of a car, and your dat wearing a dress was one of those things. He held the door open for Rogue before jumping around to the driver's side and gunning the engine. Before he drove off, however, Kitty leaned to talk to Rogue.

"Hey, I hope you have a, like, good time tonight." No insistances of long harbored crushes now, just a wish for good luck.

"Ah think Ah will, Kitty. Thanks fohr everything yah've done." Kitty smiled sheepishly.

"Yea, like, about that. I need a small favor from you."

"What do yah neehd, Kitty?" asked Rogue, willing to help out her friend but wary of what the request would be.

"Like, nothing big. I just need you to come clothing shopping with me at the mall," Kitty whispered to her friend, knowing full well one of Rogue's biggest pet peeves was going clothing shopping. Before Rogue could react, Kitty yelled, "Ok guys, have a great time!" It would take Rogue a full hour before she stopped scowling at Kitty's stunt.

* * *

"Ah haven't heard of this restaurant before. What's it cahlled again?" The trip from Bayville to Manhattan had taken three hours, most of which Remy had spent on the phone with Piotr getting directions to the restaurant. After they had finally arrived at the restaurant, it took another twenty minutes to find a suitable parking garage, one that was run by someone who didn't have the appearance and posture of a serial rapist.

"De name's Dorsia. Trust me, de food ain't bad here." Remy had calmed down entirely once they had hit New York City.

They walked through the doors of the restaurant not five minutes before their reservation, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Maitre D, who descended upon Remy like a hawk upon its prey.

"Monsieur Lebeau, you are early. A rare occurrence, if you do not mind me saying so."

"Not at all, mon ami. Yi got mi table ready?"

"As always, Monsieur. Come, I shall seat you immediately." The Maitre D grasped two menus and led the couple into the dining area of the restaurant, populated mostly by Wall Street power players wearing double-breasted suits and wingtips. Their table was off to one side, an equal distance from the bar, the front door, and the bathrooms. The Maitre D pulled their chairs out for the both of them, then made his way back to the front of the restaurant after reminding them that their waiter would be out momentarily. Remy fiddled with the bow tie of his tuxedo, making sure the knot was straight.

"Monsieur? Thaht guhy certainly seemed tah lahke you."

"Well, Remy did de man a few favors. In return, He makes sure I got an open table wheneva I need it."

* * *

After drinks were on the table and entrees were ordered, conversation started. Or, at least, that was what one would have expected. Instead, Remy fidgeted nervously in his seat while Rogue studied the candle on the table and tried to figure out if the woman two tables down from them was Paris Hilton or just drunk.

"So…Um…Remy…"

"Oui?"

"Nevamahnd. It's…it's nothing."

"Now, Chere, What's on yo mind?" Remy was craving, absolutely dying, for a cigarette, but he didn't light one. He had waited too long for this date to spend it running outside every five minutes. Of course, the lack of nicotine meant he was tapping his foot incessantly.

"Why…What's your favorite color?" Rogue asked quickly.

"Mi favorite color's red, but I don't t'ink dat's what yi were gonna ask."

"Of course it was. Whay'd ya think Ah'd wanna ahsk anything else?" Remy arched an eyebrow, but he let the subject drop.

"No reason, I guess. So what's yo favorite movie?"

The conversation started out slow and awkward, but soon they were developing a repartee, finding common interests they had no idea they shared. Remy was in the middle of a particularly amusing anecdote involving himself and St. John Allerdyce when the food arrived, broiled rainbow trout with lemon dill sauce and grilled snap peas for Remy, while Rogue ordered the pan seared pork with mango chutney and mashed red potatoes. Rogue stared at her plate, at the beautifully cooked and arranged food, and all of a sudden, she felt a question long buried rising in her throat. She was powerless to stop the words from escaping her lips.

"Wha did ya join Magneto?" Remy paused, his fork and knife frozen mid-slice.

"I figured dat yi'd ask dat sooner o later," Remy said after a long silence. Rogue grimaced, not sure what was coming next. Was he going to storm out of the restaurant, or would he blow off her question altogether? Her fears were dashed, however, when he spoke again, calm and collected, as though giving street directions. " Mags was down in N'awlins right quick de minute he found out bout mi," he paused, glancing around the restaurant. "Powers. Guess he saw a whole lot o use out o someone dat could blow up whateva he touched. Anyway, yi got ti undastand dat while I love mi home, de t'ieves guild ain't de easiest t'ing ti get out of. Aniway, when Magneto came down an started spoutin off bout mutant superiority, I swallowed de whole t'ing, hook, line, an sinker. Sounded good, bein part o de future, bein part o de rulin class," Another pause. "Neva said Remy was de smartest teenaga in de bayou, o aniwhere else fo dat matta." He folded his hands under his chin, his head hovering above his still-uneaten food. His face held no expression, favorable or not.

"So thaht was it? Ya just joihned uhp with this guhy cause ya laiked what heh saihd?" Rogue had a hard time swallowing the belief that a trained thief would take such a bold step based solely on a whim. _Hell,_ she thought, _even when he kidnapped meh he had tha whole thang planned out._ Remy just smirked at her question, the same smug smirk he possessed during most of his waking hours.

"Guess I can't get anyt'ing past yi, Rogue. Wasn't lying when I said dat I liked what he was sellin', but it helped dat he had something extra."

"Which was?"

"A list o every major job I evi pulled since I hit puberty. He had something on every one o us wit de exception o Sabretooth. Hell, even Wyngarde didn't want ti work wit Magneto, but Mags found dirt on him, too." This time, though he tried to hide it, it was obvious the last bit of disclosure had made Remy highly uncomfortable.

"Oh." Rogue said, mostly to break the silence.

"Don't regret de decision fo a minute. Hell, I regret some o de t'ings I did durin mi time wit him, but not de decision."

"Wha noht?"

"I'd like ti t'ink de whole ordeal made me a bit smarter. Hopefully made me a little less impulsive."

"Whaht do ya call stealin Scott's car tah drahve all tha way ta Jersey?"

"Makin' sure mi Rogue gets de best medical treatment possible. Yi should start eatin. De food ain't worth a damn cold," Remy took a large bite out of his trout as Rouge began to dig into her potato. "So, if yi don't mind me askin', Wha'd yi leave de Brotherhood?" Rogue narrowed her eyes to tiny slits, glaring daggers at her date. He took on a quizzical expression. "I told ya bout mi time workin' fo de opposite team." Rogue's glare grew more intense at this comment.

"Yah've got a poihnt thehre, but Ah don't want this getting around tha mansion."

"Chere, mi lips are sealed. Anyt'ing ya say stays at dis table." Rogue gave a small smile at that comment.

"It was Mystique. Everything sheh told meh was a damn lie. She tried tah kill Scott, almost killed meh in tha process, and nearhly left tha both av us ta dihe on a mountain."

"Guess dat'd send most anyone ti de other side."

"Well, it…it wasn't all thaht. Logan helped a lot. Whaht heh said afta they rescued tha both a us…Ah realized that they were probably the betta team."

"De homicidal man dat uses me as a punchin bag, dat Logan?"

"Heh's noht homicidal, heh's just…guarded. Heh takes a while tah warm up tah new people. New people heh's fought, anaway."

"So how long befo he warms up ti Remy?" It was Rogue's turn to wear a smug smirk.

"Ah dohn't know…mahbe fahve years?"

* * *

Back at the institute, Remy walked Rogue back to her room, his arm wrapped almost possessively around Rogue's waist the entire time.

"So, guess dis is goodnight."

"Yea…Thanks fohr tha dinna, Remy. Tha food was fantastic and Ah had a realla wondaful tahme."

"De pleasura was all mine, chere. I just hope yi'll do dis again." Rogue smiled, not a smirk or a placating grin, but a genuine, warm smile.

"Ah'd laike thaht," However, when Remy leaned in to kiss her, she shrunk away. "Uh, Remy…"

"What's de matta?"

"Look, Ah…Ah've been able tas touch fohr a few months now. Ah had a great tahme, Ah just…Ah'd laike mah first kiss tah beh special. Ya know?"

"Dat ain't a problem. Yi take as long as yi need."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Rogue. Bon nuit, chere." Remy turned to walk away towards his own room when Rogue called out to him again.

"Hey, Remy?" Remy turned to answer, but before he could open his mouth to answer, Rogue grasped him by the side and kissed him. Not a deep, pornographic kiss, but instead a simple kiss, one befitting a first date. She released her hold within a minute, but Remy stood still as stone, unable to move or speak from surprise.

"Naight Remy. " Sang Rogue in a light but seductive voice as she turned the doorknob to her room, leaving a stunned and confused but happy Cajun outside her door._ Ah bet he doesn't move fohrat leahst an hour._ Rogue thought, amused. Amused, at least until she walked right into the face of her roommate, whose form resembled that of a lithe, blue-eyed jack-o-lantern, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

"I want every detail. Now." _Gawd, mahbe Ah should a stayed out there with him._

* * *

Author's Note: I am a bastard. I wanted this thing up months ago, but then real life came by and informed me that I had signed up for all writing-intensive classes last semester. Enough of my excuses, however, because it is finally here; the epilogue I promised everyone. I hope that everyone here approves of Remy and Rogue's date. I would like to extend, again, an incredibly generous thank you to everyone who reviewed this story. Your words and expectations were what kept me thinking about this, and what gave me the drive to finish this. My class load this semester is nothing like last year, and hopefully that means I'll be able to be a little more active on this site than I have been. I hope everyone enjoys this final chapter to the story. Again, thank you to everyone who reviewed this story. I cannot thank you enough for your input and your encouraging words, and I cannot apologize enough for delaying this as long as I did. Please, enjoy this story. Also, the title of this story comes from a band called Eagles of Death Metal. They're great, check them out. 


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